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University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


THE  PETER  AND  ROSELL  HARVEY 
MEMORIAL  FUND 


A'V 


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., 

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THE  PRINCE  OF  THE  GOLD  HUNTERS, 


Illil 


THE  MISER, 
JOHN    VERNON, 

DISCOVERING  THE  SUICIDE  OF  HIS  WIFE, 

WHO      HAD,      FOR      TEARS 

Eluded  his  Pursuit. 


BY  CHARLES  E.  AVEEILL. 


NEW    YORK: 

PUBLISHED   in    SAMUEL.   FRENCH,  151    NASSAU   STREET 


PRICE,  25  CENTS. 


THE  PEINCE  OF  THE  GOLD  HUNTERS; 

—  OR  THE  — 
ADVENTURERS   OF 

THE    SACRAMENTO, 


A  TALE  OP 


FOUNDED  ON  ACTUAL  FACTS. 


BY  CHARLES  E,  AVERILL, 

AUTHOR    OF 

« SECRETS  OF  THE  HIGH  SEAS?  'THE  SECRETS  OF  THE  TWIN-CITIES, 
PIRATES  OF  CAPE  AW,'  'SECRET  SERVICE  SHIP?  fyc^  S>-c. 


BOSTON  : 

PRINTED   AND   PUBLISHED  BY   GEORGE  H.  WILLIAMS,  AT  THE  OFFICE 
OF  4  THE  UNCLE  SAM,'  No.  52  WASHINGTON  STREET. 


fIO   8 


;  -  ,  £ 


KIT  CARSON. 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  Merchant's  Clerk— T. if.  Temptation—  The 
Struggle  —  The  Dream  of  Wraith  —  The  Stu 
dent's  Strange  Secret—A  Ngld  Adventure  in 
the  Cily. 

Tempter  away !  wouldst  thou  beguile  ? 
What !  did  I  list  to  thee  awhile  ?  ' 

'  Hark!  hark  !  the  dread  alarm  !' 

FROM  the  Old  South  clock  and  the  State 
House  bell,  chimed  the  hour  of  nine.  The 
living  world  of  Boston's  mighty  metropolis 
was  sinking  to  its  nightly  rest ;  the  busy  marts 
were  closing  ;  the  splendid  stores  of  fashion 
able  resort,  behind  oaken  shutters  and  iron 
bars  were  veiling  their  wealth  of  costly  mer 
chandize  ;  from  the  brokers'  windows  of  State 
and  Exchange  streets,  had  been  withdrawn  to 
the  security  of  4  Salamanders,'  the  tempting 
hoard  of  golden  treasures,  whose  lavish  dis 
play  had,  that  day,  realized  to  many  a  poor, 
starving  wretch,  the  torments  of  Tantalus ; 
'Change,  itself,  had,  for  many  hours,  been 
void  of  its  restless  tide  of  speculation,  and 
from  all  parts  of  the  city,  the  steady  current 
of  home-returning  pedestrians  proclaimed  the 
advancement  of  the  night 

A  half  hour  later,  and  the  streets  of  the  j 
great  city  would  be  nearly  deserted.  But,  in 
the  meantime,  within  the  gorgeous  interior 
of  one  of  the  most  costly  stores  of  which  our 
time-honored  promenade  of  Washington-st. 
can  boast,  at  the  farther  extremity  of  the 
massive  granite  structure  itself,  a  gas-light 
still  was  burning  in  unquenched  brilliancy; 
yet  was  it  like  a  star  veiled  by  a  clond,  for, 
through  the  ponderous  closed  shutters  of  the 
lofty-storied  structure,  no  ray  of  that  hidden 
radiance  was  suffered  to  penetrate  without. — 
Fitfully  over  the  bent  form  of  a  young  man, 


fitfully  over  the  stained  and  blotted  pages  of 
the  ledger  before  him,  flared  the  gas-light's 
sickly  glare,  in  bold  relief  reflecting,  despite 
the  shadows  and  the  darkness  of  the  outer 
night,  the  appearance  of  the  merchant's 
clerk. 

Singularly  at  variance  with  the  luxurious 
aspect  of  the  store  and  belongings,  seemed 
in  truth  the  somewhat  shabby  exterior  of  the 
voung  man  ;  whose  thread-bare  coat,  with  its 
well-worn  elbows  exhibiting  more  than  one 
prudent  darn,  gave  such  suspicious  evidence 
of  having  been  but  too  often  brushed,  as  did 
the  neglected  hat  that  encumbered  the  writing 
cabinet  of  the  counting-room  in  which  he  sat ; 
his  back  rounding,  his  head  resting  between 
his  clasped  hands  upon  the  unclosed  account- 
book,  so  that  the  face  could  not  be  seen — his 
whole  crouching  attitude  expressive  of  the 
most  utter  physical  exhaustion.  By  his  hard 
and  sonorous  breathing  it  was  not  difficult  to 
tell  that  the  over-tasked  laborer  had  fallen 
asleep  at  his  task  ! 

It  was  with  a  violent  start  that  he  suddenly 
woke. 

'Ha!  where  ami?'  was  his  first  uncon 
scious  exclamation  of  confused  recollection 
and  surprise. 

4  How  !  and  have  I,  indeed,  been  sleeping?' 
he  repeated,  i  sleeping  at  my  post  ?  strange 
that  I  should  so  lose  myself!  and  yet  not  so 
strange  after  all.  I  have  been  sadly  tasked 
of  late,  and  Nature,  though  long-enduring, 
must  yield  at  last.  Ah  me  !'  he  murmured, 
1  I  am  well-nigh  worn  out,  I  fear ;  sixteen 
hours  of  the  twenty-four  spent  daily  in  labor ; 
constant  confinement,  no  recreation,  the  same 
eternal  ^ound, — alas  !  what  marvel  that  they 
should  reduce  me  to  this  state  of  bodily  pros 
tration  ?  And  all  this  I  suffer  for  a  pitiful 
salary  of  meagre  five  hundred  a-year,  that 
will  scarce  clothe  me  decently,  and  the 


KIT  CARSON. 


speaker  bitterly  surveyed  himself  as  he  spoke, 
in  one  of  the  splendid  mirrors  which  beauti 
fied,  while  seeming  to  double,  the  extent  of 
the  luxurious  sales-room  beyond. 

He  had  risen  erect  in  the  act,  and  as  he 
took  a  step  or  two  forward,  he  beheld,  re 
flected  back,  a  care-worn  though  noble  coun 
tenance,  and  a  brow  on  which  anxious  thought 
and  trouble  had  marred  much  of  youthful 
'clearness,  while  from  sadness'  own  shadows, 
his  dark  hazel  eyes  had  borrowed  even  a 
deeper  shade. 

An  expression  almost  cynical  had  marked 
his  last-uttered  words,  and  yet  with  other 
thoughts,  came  also  a  softened  tone,  as  in  a 
moment  he  reiterated, — 

4  All  this  for  five  hundred  a-year  ! — all  this 
for  that — and  yet  not  for  that  alone — for  HER 
SAKE,  TOO,  I  should  have  said,  do  I  endure 
all  that  I  do.  My  sister !  my  sweet  sister! 
fhe  sole  being  left  to  care  for  the  poor  and 
friendless  clerk.  Ah,  poor  girl  !  little  she 
knows  of  all  her  brother's  sad  privations  for 
her  dear  sake — God  grant  she  never  may. — 
My  poverty  !  my  poverty  !  she  knows  not  half 
its  full  extent,  and  still  she  sees  how  very  poor 
I  am.  Alas,  this  shabby  dress,  this  thread 
bare  garb  speak  plainer  than  words.  And 
yet — ha,  ha  ! 

Here  he  paused  abruptly,  and  with  a  hol 
low  laugh,  as  in  speaking,  his  hollow  eye 
glanced  first  at  the  costly  array  of  richest 
goods,  then  from  these  to  his  own  half-worn 
out  apparel, — 

4  And  yet,  why  need  I  so  remain  ?  Here 
are  fabrics  in  thousands,  from  the  richest 
looms  of  Persia  and  India ;  true,  my  limited 
income  is  insufficient  to  support  an  orphan 
sister  and  indulge  in  the  expensive  luxuries 
of  dress  ;  still,  I  might  thus  indulge.  Ha, 
'ia, — how  is  it  that  half  your  spruce  young 
city  clerks,  out  of  their  meagre  salaries,  con 
trive  to  dress  so  fashionably  ? — hovjp,  how,  I 
say  ?  Plain  people  wonder,  but  the  SECRET 
,hey  know  not.' 

And  the  speaker  sarcastically  pursued  his 
.soliloquy  : 

4  Yes,  the  secret  of  it.  A  few  yards,  more 
)r  less,  in  a  costly  piece  of  broadcloth,  what 
ire  they  ?  they  probably  never  would  be  misfe- 
d  where  a  business  so  enormous  is  carried 
>n,  or,  if  discovered,  to  whose  charge  among 
)  many  salesmen,  could  the  peculation  be 
aid  ?  Yet,  thank  God  !  I  never  stooped  to 
hat ;  I  never  pleaded  that  excuse  for  sinning 


thus,  though  who,  in  truth,  is  most  to  blame  ? 
what  but  the  grinding  spirit  of  penurious  em 
ployers  is  it,  after  all,  that  makes  dishonesty 
in  those  who  serve  them  ?  When  but  a  dog's 
compensation  is  given  us,  what  wonder  is  it 
that  the  clerks  of  the  city  cheat  and  betray 

their  trust  ?     Still,  'tis  theft  no  less,  and 

no,  no,  I  would  sooner  far  continue  in  this  poor 
garb,  and  know  that,  at  least,  the  means  by 
which  it  was  first  gained  I  need  not  blush  to 
own,  though  I  may  blush  for  its  poverty. 

4  That  temptation,  at  any  rate,  for  years  I 
have  resisted,  and  still  I  will  withstand  ;  and 
yet,  I  am  very,  very  poor.  O,  my  sister  I 
would  I  could  make  thee,  at  least,  rich  and 
happy  ;  alas  !  HOW  ?' 

There  was  silence,  perfect  silence,  for  a 
few  moments.  The  noble-minded  fellow  seem 
ed  busied  in  deepest  thought ;  a  sudden  and 
bright  light  came  into  his  thoughtful  eye — a 
warm  flush  reddened  his  pale  cheek  —  his 
whole  countenance  became,  all  at  once,  mstirct 
with  life  ;  and  from  his  eager,  parted  lips, 
came,  breathlessly,  a  single  word — one  single 
word  that,  within  the  space  of  three  brief 
months,  has  gained  a  power  to  sway,  alike  the 
soul  of  Ambition  and  Avarice — to  summon  its 
votaries  from  home  and  loved  ones,  near  and 
far,  across  the  untrodden  main  thousands  and 
thousands  of  miles  away  ;  to  re-arouse  the 
drooping  hope,  and  afresh  inspire  the  dying 
energy ;  to  bewilder*  even  the  constitutionally 
cool  and  staid  with  its  magic  sound,  while  ex 
citing  almost  to  madness,  the  less  calm  and 
calculating  enthusiast.  That  one  word,  reader, 
you  have  heard  it  before  ;  it  was, — for  who  is 
he  has  heard  it  not  ? — 

CALIFORNIA !!! 

It  was  uttered,  the  talismanic  word  !  and 
then  the  spirit's  sudden  light  went  out,  as 
evanescent  in  its  life  as  in  its  birth  ;  and 
death  as  instantaneous  seemed  to  follow  the 
new-born  hope. 

4  Folly  !  sheer  folly  !  Where  should  I  gain 
the  necessary  means  ?  who  is  there  to  bestow 
upon  the  friendless  clerk  Lie  amount  requi 
site  to  transport  him  to  that  golden  land  where 
so  many  hope  to  enrich  themselves,  ere  the 
year  be  out.  I  have  tried  every  means,  every 
honorable  means — exerted  myself  In  vain. — 
All,  all  to  no  purpose  ;  the  friends,  the  influ 
ence,  the  generous  helping  hand — I  have  thero 
not.' 


KIT  CARSON. 


9 


Despond  in  gly,  at  che  unwelcome  assurance, 
the  despairing  young  man's  head  sank  upon 
his  breast,  and  he  stood  the  very  picture  of 
silent  despair. 

Then,  for  the  last  time,  in  his  strange  self- 
communion,  he  muttered,  and  this  time  with 
looks  full  of  excitement: 

'  Ha !  and  yet,  what  a  maddening  thought ! 
that  when  fortune  is  within  my  very  grasp, 
when  the  mere  possession  of  a  few  hundred 
dollars  is  but  needed  to  waft  me  to  that  bright 
land  of  promise  which  so  suddenly  has  open 
ed  on  the  view,  to  boundless  riches  in  certain 
prospective, — a  man's  hands  should  be  hope 
lessly  tied  for  lack  of  this  pitiful  sum,  and  he 
still  forced  to  delve  on  here  for  the  paltry  pit 
tance  of  a  livelihood,  while  in  another  clime, 
he  might  be  winning  wealth  exhaustless  for 
himself  and  his  dear  ones,  O,  torture  worst 
of  all.' 

And  fearfully  agitated  by  the  thrilling  pic 
ture  he  had  drawn,  that  dark  picture  which 
has. risen,  doubtless,  before  thousands  situated 
thus,  a  groan' escaped  from  his  heaving  chest, 
and  his  every  feature  seemed  to  participate, 
acutely,  in  the  anguish  that  convulsed  limbs, 
form  and  face. 

But  at  this  point  it  was  that  his  excitement, 
his  grief,  his  despondency,  now  at  once  ap 
peared,  and  in  a  startling  shape,  to  have 
reached  their  climax.  His  dark  hazel  eye 
lighted  up  swiftly,  as  a  clouded  sky  by  the 
tempest  lightnings,  gleamed  with  a  new  and 
strange  meaning. 

With  a  quick,  short,  determined  step,  he 
passed  on  into  the  magnificent  salesroom  ;  it 
v/as  but  a  moment  that  he  was  gone  ;  ere  it 
had  quite  elapsed,  with  a  key  taken  from  a 
secret  depository  in  the  counter,  he  re-enter 
ed  the  counting-room  he  had  but  for  an  instant 
left. 

It  was  a  heavy  iron  key,  odd  in  its  forma 
tion,  and  with  it  in  his  grasp  he  paused  not, 
halted  not,  nor  hesitated,  till,  on  bent  knees, 
he  knelt  before  a  massive  Salamander  Safe, 
hat  stood  concealed  within  a  hidden  recess. 

What,  ah,  what  could  be  his  secret  purpose  ? 

Let  his  bloodless  face  and  lips  compressed, 
and  teeth  tightly  clenched  over  that,  and  that 
stern  look  of  desperation  on  one  and  all,  tell, 
alas,  but  too  intelligibly.  Thus  seeming,  thus 
appearing,  but  with  unshaking  hand,  he  seeks 
for  the  particular  knob  which,  alone  of  all  its 
hundred  companions,  conceals  so  cunningly 
the  key-hole  of  the  safe. 


It  is  found  !  and  the  key  in  the  lock  insert 
ed  ;  still,  none  but  a  practised  hand,  would 
even  then  have  successfully  assayed  to  turn 
the  ponderous 'wards,  or  roll  back  the  shrewd 
ly-contrived  bolt ;  but  his  clerk's  duty  has 
made  him  familiar  with  the  task,  though  never 
before  coupled  with  his  present  purpose. 

The  very  next  moment,  the  critical  moment 
of  his  destiny,  the  daring  hand  of  the  mer 
chant's  clerk  was  buried  amid  piles  of  silver 
and  gold,  and  passing  over  packages  of  bank 
notes,  or  rattling  amid  bags  of  glittering  coin. 

The  solid  wealth  of  one  of  Tri-mount's 
most  opulent  merchant-princes,  the  riches  of 
a  life-time's  accumulation,  lay  exposed  and 
within  his  grasp.  The  half  of  all  he  saw  was 
more  than  robber's  hand  could  bear  away ; 
the  fourth  of  it  would  have  insured  to  any  one 
a  splendid  competence  ;  to  him  who  now  de 
voured  it  with  his  eyes,  it  would 'have  realized 
his  brightest  dreams  of  monied  bliss  ;  yet,  alas, 
with  crime,  with  dishonor,  only  to  be  bought. 

And  now,  as  in  silence,  in  secrecy,  unseen 
by  any  save  God's  omniscient  eye,  over  that 
princely  treasure  he  bent,  a  fearful  thought 
had  roused  a  fearful  struggle  in  his  soul. 
Should  he,  the  neglected,  the  down-trodden, 
the  uncared  for  instrument,  whose  incessant 
labors  had  helped  for  years  to  swell  these 
hoarded  gains,  he  who  had  slaved  away,  in  a 
hard  master's-  service,  the  best  part  of  his  life 
for  a  bare  subsistence  ;  should  HE  take  from 
that  vast  accumulation  the  small  amount  that 
necessity  required,  to  open  for  him  Fortune's 
inviting  portals,  and  fly — fly  to  that  newly- 
discovered  haven  of  the  poor  man's  hopes, 
whose  signal  lights  were  so  brightly  shining, 
a  beacon  to  both  the  New  World  and  th- 
Old? 

He  hesitated,  he  faltered,  he  paused.  Th< 
sum  itself  was  trifling  in  comparison  ;  its  en 
tire  value,  thrice-told,  would  not,  as  it  was, 
have  half  made  up  to  him  the  unjust  deficits 
in  his  miserly  remuneration,  and,  eventful 
query,  was  he  not  AUTHORIZED  in  its  appro 
priation  ? 

The  act  committed,  the  abstraction  of  the 
little  needed  was  secure  from  discovery  a  full 
week  at  least,  for  only  so  often  came  the  peri 
odical  reckoning,  and  by  that  time  would  he 
be  far  away  upon  the  ocean  :  long  before  that 
day  the  fortune-bearing  ship  would  sail.  With 
wealth  illimitable  he  could  return,  make  resti 
tution  a  thousand-fold  to  heal  the  scar  of  con 
science,  bring  joy  and  happiness  to  a  pool 


10 


KIT  CARSON. 


orphan  sister,  and,  to  himself,  emancipation 
from  a   life  of  servitude. 

In  lightning-like  quickness  of  transition 
passed  these  lightning-like  thoughts  through 
his  mind  ;  his  agitation  became  feverish,  it 
was  no  longer  passive  ;  and  in  a  perfect  de 
lirium  of  excitement,  and  when  it  wras  with 
drawn,  a  bag,  heavy  with  its  glittering  weight 
of  gold,  was  in  his  grasp. 
.  A  hectic  flush  usurped,  with  its  ruddiness, 
the  habitual  pallor  of  his  cheek — his  hand,  for 
the  first  time,  trembled  with  eagerness — a 
thrilling  tremor  shook  his  whole  frame — then, 
with  a  rattling  clash,  the  bag,  with  its  contents 
fell  to  the  floor. 

Like  the  thunder-bolt  that,  on  Calvary's  sa 
cred  summit,  split  the  temple-veil  in  twain — 
like  the  shock  of  the  judgment-trump  itself — 
to  the  excited  fancy  of  the  half  frenzied  young 
man  seemed  the  sharp  clang  of  the  falling 
gold. 

The  spell  was  broken,  the  cling  of  the 
chinking  coin  had  lost  its  long-held  magic 
oharm. 

4 1  was  mad — mad  !'  he  shrieked,  and 
started  to  his  feet.  '  Great  God,  and  have  my 
senses  quite  deserted  me  ?  I  feel  my  very 
reason  shaking,  my  brain  reeling  within  me. 
Escaped — thank  Heaven's  own  mercy — es 
caped.  What  was  I,  in  my  wild  delirium, 
about  to  do  ?  Rob,  plunder  my  employers, 
DCtray  their  confiding  trust,  cover  myself 
with  eternal  infamy,  aye,  and  madman  that 
I  was,  make  my  idolized  sister  blush  to  own 
me  for  a  brother.  But  I  was  insane  ;  for  the 
moment,  insane.  O,  never,  never,  O  my 
God,  while  reason  is  spared,  while  mind,  with 
mind  and  sense,  remains,  will  I  be  criminal. 
Sooner,  a  thousand  times  sooner,  would  I  drag 
on  my  present  sad  and  hopeless  existence  ; 
sooner  far  remain  the  miserable  slave  to  the 
desk  and  counter  that  I  have  been,  from  my 
youth  up,  than  degrade,  debase  myself  in  my 
own  eyes  thus.  No,  no  ;  not  ALL  the  gold  of 
California  could  tempt  me  THUS  again.' 

With  the  very  utterance  of  those  noble 
words,  that  sublime  and  proud  resolve,  the 
tempted  one  felt  with  joy  inexpressible,  that 
he  was  saved,  saved  from  himself.  Still  he 
was  fearfully  agitated  ;  the  abrupt  revulsion  of 
feeling  had  been  as  powerful  as  the  danger 
ous  emotions  which  it  had  dispelled  from  him 
forever. 

4  Air,  air,'  faintly  he  faltered,  for  the  damp 
sweat  stood  in  beads  of  "moisture  on  his  fore 


head,  at  every  pore  perspiring,  while  and  icy 
chill  and  burning  heat  swiftly  alternated  on 
his  flushed  and  fevered  face,  the  fire  of  pas 
sion  over,  and  physical  weakness  corning 
back  upon  him ;  '  air,  air !  I  must  have  air 
and  exercise.  This  is  too  much  for  my  poor 
frame  and  weakened  body.  The  streets,  by 
this  time,  are  deserted — a  quiet  walk  wilf 
compose  my  disordered  mind  ;  but,  first,  back 
with  thee,  demon,  to  thy  cell,'  with  a  fierce 
emphasis  he  said,  as,  with  a  nervous  limb,  he 
lifted  the  fatal  bag  and  hurled  the  jins;Hng 
coin  within  the  iron  safe,  with  a  shudder  of 
abhorrence  called  forth  by  the  very  act. 

Then,  as  if  eager  to  shut  out  even  the 
mere  signs  of  the  wealth  that  had  so  tempted 
him,  he  hurriedly  closed  the  safe  door  and 
relocked  it,  in  his  impatience  to  begone,  ne 
glecting,  however,  to  withdraw  and  conceal 
the  key. 

4  And  now,  at  last,  to  cool  my  beating 
pulse,  and  find  some  means  to  "distract  me 
from  reflection.  Heaven  knows,  after  such 
a  scene,  I  need  it.' 

And,  first  carefully  securing  the  store  in 
his  absence,  notMeaving  the  spot,  from  sheer 
force  of  habit,  until,  by  examination  that  all 
was  '  safe  for  the  night,'  he  turned  from  the 
building  and  strode  rapidly  down  the  street ; 
but,  despite  this  circumstance,  there  was 
one  thing  he  had  forgotten, — the  key  of  the 
safe. 

Fatal  omission !  but  he  knew  it  not ;  nor 
once  suspected  how  strangely  it  was  destined 
to  color  future  events — to  what  unforseen  re 
sults  it  was  to  lead. 

But  leaving  these  shortly  to  develope  them 
selves,  we  must  follow  the  hero  of  our  first 
chapter  in  his  course,  as  with  a  pace  by  no 
means  measured,  he  now  takes  his  way  along 
through  the  deserted  streets  of  the  night- 
hushed  city. 

Thus  it  was  that  he  hurried  on,  objectless 
and  purposeless,  as  concerned  his  destination, 
anxious  only  to  drown  thought  in  action,  till 
at  length  it  was  with  something  bordering  on 
a  start  of  surprise,  that  he  found  himself  on 
Charlestown  Bridge. 

Beyond,  separated  from  old  Boston  by  the 
flowing  waters  of  Charles  River,  Charlestown 
with  its  glorious  monument,  Cambridge,  with 
its  proud  universities,  were  se^n. 

Almost  gasping  for  breatk  panting  with 
haste,  he  bent  his  uneven  steps  across  the 
bridge,  trusting  to  the  change  of  scene  to 


KIT  CARSON. 


11 


work  that  composure  of  mind  he  found  it  im 
possible,  by  the  force  of  will  to  acquire.  But 
in  vain !  * 

The  cool  river  aii  brought  with  it  no  re 
freshing  balm  to  his  burning  brow ;  the  soft 
sighmgs  of  the  rushing  waters  bore  no  sooth 
ing  music  to  his  ear;  a  full,  unobstructed 
prospect  of  the  clear  blue  heavens  overhead 
had  no  power  to  tinge,  with  an  emollient 
cast,  his  spirits  ;  for  there,  beyond  that 
rolling  river,  boldly  defined  against  the  spark 
ling  sky,  uprose  the  dark  and  gloomy  towers 
of  Charlestown  prison,  like  the  grim,  forbid 
ding  walls  of  some  fabled  giant's  castle  of  old 
— and  sudden  and  startling  over  his  soul  came 
the  thought,  that  but  for  the  fortunate  triumph 
of  rectitude,  he  might  have  been  its  branded 
occupant ! 

That  thought  was  torture  ;  it  was  the  burn 
ing  lava  poured  from  the  volcano  of  his  mind, 
thrown  into  fresh  eruption  ;  and  now,  los 
ing,  completely,  all  control  of  himself,  more 
heedlessiy  than  ever  he  dashed  onward,  at  a 
furious  pace,  that  caused  more  than  one  be 
lated  passer  by  to  turn  in  wonder  and  alarm 
to  gaze  after  him. 

Before  he  was  conscious  of  the  fact,  he  had 
left  Charlestown  itself  behind  and  entered  the 
suburbs  of  Old  Cambridge.  Only  when,  re 
called  to  himself  by  a  strange  incident,  did 
he  discover  that  he  stood  within  the  precincts 
of  the  University  grounds,  the  fine  old  park  of 
Harvard  College,  with  its  branching  elms  and 
shaded  walks. 

It  was  the  sound  of  voices  near  that  had 
aroused  him — voices  in  loud  and  impetuous 
altercation. 

Startled  at  once,  his  mind,  for  the  first  time 
experiencing  the  vainly  sought  distraction,  he 
hurried  down  an  adjoining  avenue,  guided  by 
his  ear,  which  told  him  he  was  rapidly  ap 
proaching  the  immediate  scene  of  the  con 
test. 

As  he  drew  nearer  and  nearer,  oaths  and 
angry  defiances  were  distinguishable,  and  in 
another  instant  he  had  emerged  upon  a  scene 
that  fired  him  at  the  sight. 

Contending,  hand-to-hand,  with  some  twenty 
or  more  young  men  in  the  dress  of  the  Uni 
versity,  were  half-a-dozen  stout  fellows  whom 
it  was  by  no  means  difficult  to  identify  as  ap 
prentices,  shop-boys  and  office-lads,  the  two 
respective  parties  engaged  in  a  most  deter 
mined  set-to,  waging  desperate  warfare  with 
Herculean  fists,  clubs,  stones,  and  bludgeons, 


or  whatever  other   rude  weapons  chance  sup 
plied. 

4  Ha !  a  fight  between  the  students  of  Har 
vard  aud  the  'prentice  boys  !'  ejaculated  the 
merchant's  clerk,  who,  in  an  instant,  saw  and 
comprehended  all. 

'  A  refuge,'  he  continued, c  a  refuge  I  must 
have  from  my  bitter  thoughts,  if  it  be  but  to 
mingle  in  this  mad  brawl.  Yes,  by  Heaven ! 
I,  too,  will  enter  the  lists — and,  ha  !  the  odds 
are  sadly  against  the  'prentice  lads — it  shall 
be  upon  the  side  of  the  weaker  party.  Any 
thing  to  save  me  from  myself  and  drown  the 
reflections  that  nearly  drive  me  mad.  Have 
at  them,  then.' 

And  with  the  words  he  dashed  into  the 
thickest  of  the  conflict. 

Right  and  left  he  fought,  mixing  with  his 
allies.  Spite  of  the  odds  against  them,  the 
apprentices  gallantly  held  their  own,  while  the 
spirit  and  resolution  which  have  ever  been  so 
oddly  characteristic  of  such  contests  between 
the  parties. 

These  famous  combats,  outvieing  the  feud 
of  the  Capulets  and  Montagues,  between  the 
wild  collegians  and  the  rival  city  boys,  grow 
ing  out  of  not  altogether  unnatural  feelings 'of 
j  ealousy  and  envy  on  one  part,  and,  perhaps, 
of  overbearing  arrogance,  on  the  other  hand, 
in  the  students  themselves — though  less  fre 
quent  than  formerly,  are  still  provebial,  and 
of  occasional  occurrence  even  now. 

Often  in  these  singular  collisions,  in  which 
gentlemen's  sons  were  found  pitting  them 
selves  against  the  grocers'  boys  and  stout  ap 
prentices,  it  happened  that  the  former  got  the 
worst  of  the  encounter — -for,  generally,  they 
were  the  smaller  party — but  here,  in  the  pre 
sent  instance,  the  case  was  directly  the  re 
verse. 

It  was  with  a  loud  shout  that  the  weaker 
party  welcomed  the  advent  of  an  unexpected 
friend  ;  while,  angry  at  the  interference,  the 
opposing  students,  with  loud  reiterated  cries 
of  defiance,  made  a  rush  upon  the  new  ally 
of  the  enemy  and  the  young  clerk  found  him 
self  beset  on  all  sides. 

Twice  had  he  been  nearly  thrown  to  the 
ground,  by  repeated  blows  from  a  club  in  the 
hand  of  one  of  the  foremost  antagonists ;  but 
grappling  with  their  author,  he  quickly  hurled 
him  beneath  his  feet,  and  in  another  moment 
had  felled  a  second  of  the  students  who  barred 
his  progress. 

The  apprentices  began  to  gather  courage 


12 


KIT  CARSON. 


afresh,  =artd  made  a  yet  stouter  stand,  repeat 
edly  incited  to  new  exertions  by  the  hoarse  ; 
voice -of  one  of  their  party  ivho  seemed,  by 
common  consent,  to  be  their  leader  in   the 
fray. 

Though  an  ally  and  leader  among  them,  he 
was  evidently  not  one  of  them ;  for  while  all 
the  rest  were  mere  boys,  comparatively,  this  • 
'.personage  was  a  man,  at  least  forty  years  of 
age,  who,  "with  his  Herculean  make  and  coarse 
garb,  seemed  to  be  some  stout  laborer  who 
-had  made  common  cause  with  the  apprentices 
against  their  rivals,  probably  from  mutual 
dislike,  and  who,  from  his  superior  strength 
and  years  had  tacitly  been  assigned  the  lead 
ership. 

This  man  was  engaged,  at  the  moment  in 
which  he  first  excited  the  notice  of  our  last- 
comer,  in  a  fierce  struggle  with  one  of  the 
most  active  and  determined  of  the  students, 
who  seemed,  also,  to  occupy  the  position  of 
temporay  chief  among  his  own  party  ;  and 
from  what  the  merchant's  clerk  could  per 
ceive,  the  contest  between  these  two  threaten 
ed  to  be  even  more  obstinate  that  was  the  case 
with  the  other  belligerents  ;  but  before  he  had 
time  for  further  observation,  he  was  forced, 
self  defence,  to  turn  his  attention  to  himself, 
and  almost  at  the  same  instant,  from  some 
one  amid  his  own  little  band,  contending 
against  such  unequal  numbers,  the  sudden  cry 
was  raised, — 

*  The  police  !  the  police  !' 

*  'Tis  a   false    alarm !'    shouted    the    stu 
dents,  derisively.      4  The  cowards — they  are 
giving  in.' 

4  Cowards  in  your  teeth !'  we're  not  afraid, 
and  you  know  it.  Give  it  to  the  college  up 
starts — trounce  them  well,'  yelled  back  the 
opposite  party,  indignant  at  the  taunt. 

But  in  the  same  breath  the  voice  of  the 
leader  of  the  students  was  heard,  shouting  to 
friends  and  foes, — 

4  No,  no  !  it  is  the  police ! — do  you  not  hear 
the  rattles,  down  the  street  yonder  ?' 

1  Hark  !— yes,  we  do  hear.  What's  to  be 
done,  what's  to  be  done,  Harry  ?  Come,  you 
are  our  captain  to-night,'  cried  a  dozen  of  the 
speaker's  party. 

*  Hist,  then !  the   watchmen  are  coming— 
you  must  fly,  all  of  you  !     Hark  ye,  my  fine 
lads,  friends  and  enemies  both  !  we  must  dis 
perse,  every  soul  of  us,   if  we  do  not  wish  to 
see  the  inside  of  the  station-house  to-morrow, 
&r  this  night's  lark.  We'll  fight  out  this  quar 


rel  some  other  time — it  was  not  of  our  seek 
ing,  at  all  events — but  come,  brave  soldiers  of 
Harvard  !  let's  aw.ny !'  called  out  the  student, 
in  a  clear,  manly  voice. 

All  turned  to  make  good  their  escape,  aTv 
save  the  stout  fellow  in  the  laborer's  dress, 
who,  with  a  ferocious  oath,  had  thrown  him 
self  suddenly  forward  upon  his  late  antagon 
ist,  at  the  very  instant  the  young  leader  of  the 
student  band  likewise  turned  to  follow  the  re 
treat  of  his  companions,  and  roughly  seizing 
the  youth  by  the  throat,  the  man,  by  a  strong 
effort,  bore  him  back  across  his  own  powerful 
knee,  and  dashed  his  clenched  fist,  with  its  full 
force  in  the  other's  exposed  face. 

The  student,  half-stunned  by  the  shock, 
•sunk  from  his  assailant's  knee,  breathless  to 
the  earth,  and  scarcely  had  his  body  touched 
the  sod,  when  the  self-same  muscular  knee 
was  bent  upon  his  breast,  as  if  to  hold  him 
down. 

What  was  the  startling  surprise  of  the  mer 
chant's  clerk,  when  he  saw  the  Herculean  la 
borer  kneeling  on  the  panting  chest  of  the 
prostrate  youth,  with  two  powerful  hands 
clutching  the  student's  throat,  in  the  act  .of 
strangulation. 

The  astounded  spectator  could  scare  credit 
his  senses,  so  startled  was  he  by  the  sight. — 
But  the  voice  of  humanity  claimed  precedence 
before  all  other  emotions,  and  with  one  swift, 
determined  bound,  he  gained  the  side  of  the 
prostrate  youth. 

Not  an  instant  too  soon  was  he !  Stretched 
on  the  green  sward  of  the  park,  his  eyes  glar 
ing  and  bloodshot,  his  countenance  a  purple 
hue,  rapidly  verging  on  the  deathly  black  of 
suffocation,  his  tongue  protruding  from  his 
discolored  lips,  on  which  inarticulate  sounds 
vainly  struggled  for  stifled  utterance — a  help 
less  object,  a  ghastly  sight,  the  strangling  stu 
dent  lay. 

One  low  cry  of  horror,  one  wild  "burst  of 
indignation,  and  with  uplifted  arm,  and  strain 
ing  nerve,  and  heart  on  fire,  the  generous  sue- 
corer  had  sprung  upon  the  wretch,  and,  fall 
ing,  with  his  concentrated  force  upon  the 
head  of  the  kneeling  man,  the  whole  crush 
ing  weight  of  his  body  descended,  felling  tho 
other  senseless  at  the  side  of  his  half-suffocat 
ed  victim. 

When  at  length  the  young  student,  whose 
narrow  escape  from  death,  in  one  of  its  most 
dreadful  forms,  we  have  chronicled,  began  to 
recover  from  the  fearful  effect  of  his  partial 


KIT  CARSON. 


13 


strangulation,  he  first  opened  his  eyes  on  the 
form  of  the  merchant's  clerk,  supported  in  his 
arms. 

4  Ha  !  Eugene  Lincoln  ?     You  here  P 

4  Harry — Harrv  Vernon ! — my  dear,  only 
friend  P 

Were  the  alternate  exclamations — first  of 
the  young  collegian,  then  of  his  resuer,  who 
bent  over  him. 

4  This  is  a  strange  meeting,  Harry,'  added 
the  last  speaker. 

4  Strange,  strange,  indeed  !  By  Heaven, 
I  believe  the  blood-thirsty  rascal  would  have 
strangled  me  P 

4  He  would — he  would  ;  and  you,  in  a  mo 
ment  more,  have  been  past  all  help,'  was  the 
impressive  response. 

4  Confusion  to  the  rascal !  what  could  have 
so  possessed  the  man  ?'  ejaculated  the  young 
student ;  4  but,  I  see,  he  must  have  been  in 
toxicated.' 

4  Probably — and  this  unhappy  brawl  nearly 
lost  you  your  life  to  the  blind  fury  of  a  drunken 
rioter !' 

4 1  know  it,  and  may  thank  only  your  timely 
assistance,  my  dear  friend,'  gratefully  replied 
the  student. 

4  O  Harry  Vernon,  will  you  never  learn  to 
tame  that  wild  spirit  of  yours,  and  cease  to  ex 
pose  yourself  to  the  dangers  and  follies  in 
which  your  bold,  adventurous  nature  ever 
makes  you  assume  the  lead,  and  the  boldest 
yield  you  the  precedence  ?  With  your  wealth, 
your  talents,  your  noble  spirit,  why  will  you 
thus  heedlessly  endanger  so  much.  Be  warn 
ed,  Vernon,  my  friend,  by  me — I  am  older 
than  you,  more  experienced — I  know  your 
warm,  impetuous  disposition,  your  native  en 
thusiasm  and  your  high,  proud  heart,'  urged 
the  fervent  counsellor,  earnestly-  4  O,  then, 
beware.' 

The  young  collegian  caught  his  faithful 
friend's  hand  and  wrung  it  warmly,  as  he  feel 
ingly  said, — 

'  I  feel,  I  appreciate  your  generous  consid 
eration,  my  dear  Vernon.  But  banish  such 
apprehensions,  friend  of  mine,'  added  gaily 
the  young  speaker,  with  a  cheering  warmth 
and  frankness  in  his  tones,  which  had  a  bold 
and  manly  richness  in  their  every  mellow  ac 
cent. 

4  Harry  Vernon  is  no  spoiled  child  of  for 
tune.  He  may  be  a  little  wild,  a  little  reck 
less,  too,  perchance — but  he  is  no  profligate. 
There  is  full  time  enough  to  settle  down — the 


heir  to  thousands  and  the  boy  of  eighteen  need 
be  in  no  very  pressing  haste,  my  good  Lin 
coln,  methinks.' 

4  The  heir  to  thousands !  yes,  yes,'  repeat 
ed  Lincoln,  4  Providence  be  praised  that  it  is 
so,  and  the  best  and  only  friend  spared  to  me, 
save  a  dear  sister,  thus  raised  above  the  har 
rowing  curse  of  want  and  care,'  he  murmur 
ed,  as  to  himself.  4  Fortunate,  indeed,  for  you 
— though  you  may  lack  the  consciousness  of 
its  full  value — that  you  were  born  the  heir  to 
a  rich  family.' 

The  student  started  slightly  as  he  replied 
to  the  remark, — 

4 1  am  NOT  the  heir  to  a  rich  family — I  mean 
I  am  not  the  BORN  heir — — ' 

4  How !  you  are  an  only  child — an  only 
son,  are  you  not  ?'  interrupted  the  other,  with 
surprise. 

4  Yes — and  yet,  not  yes,  either.  There  was 
another  child — a  brother,  but ' 

4  Ha  ! — what  of  him  ?  A  brother,  do  you 
say?' 

4  Yes,  but  a  strange  circumstance — I  know 
not  that  I  ought  to  mention  it.' 

He  paused,  hesitated. 

4  Hist,  Lincoln  !  hist !  I  am  about  to  con 
fide  to  you,  my  nearest  friend  and  confidant, 
a  secret  that  I  have  been  bidden  never  to 
speak,  or  at  least  all  I  know  concerning  that 
secret-' 

And  the  voice  of  the  earnest  student  sank 
to  a  meaning  whisper. 

4  What  mean  you,  Vernon  ?'  demanded 
Lincoln,  with  breathless  interest  in  his  words 
and  in  his  tones. 

Those  of  the  evidently  excited  studttnt 
were  yet  more  deeply  impressive,  as  he  re 
plied, — 

4  This,  Lincoln,  this — yet,  ere  I  breathe  the 
frail  word,  remember  that  with  you  the  secret 
is  to  rest.  No,  Lincoln,  no  ;  I  am  not  the  only, 
nor  the  first-born  of  the  family ;  one  other 
there  was,  one  whom  I  can  distinctly  call  to 
mind,  at  times,  in  childhood,  as  older  than  my 
self;  but,  suddenly  and  unaccountably,  I 
missed  him  ,  strangely  my  brother  had  disap 
peared  from  his  home  ;  of  that  disappearance  I 
never  could  gain  any  explanation — for  strang 
est  of  all,  whenever  I  sought  from  my  father 
to  learn  some  cause  or  reason  for  his  extraor 
dinary  event,  I  was  met,  not  by  tears  of  grief 
and  sad  remembrance,  but  with  a  seeming 
start  of  fearful  surprise  and  a  stern  order 
never  to  dare  mention  the  subject  again  ;  nev- 


14 


KIT  CARSON. 


er  once  allude  to  it,  so  long  as  I  lived  ! 

*  Conceive,  Lincoln,  conceive  of  my  extre- 
mity  of  bewilderment  and   wonder,  my   inex 
tricable   perplexity ;    for  never,  to  this,  day, 
have  I  been  able  to  obtain  the  merest  light 
concerning   that  brother's   mysterious   disap 
pearance.  * 

'  Myterious,  inexplicable,  indeed  !  No  key 
to  a  mystery  so  strange  as  this  ?'  was  the  in 
quiry. 

4  Not  the  slightest.  The  unaccountable 
disappearance,  the  secresy  maintained  toward 
me,  the  studied  silence  upon  a  subject  so  full 
of  exciting  interest  to  a  whole  family,  and  the 
peremptory  interdiction  of  recurring  to  that 
which  naturally  must  call  forth  such  curious 
and  eager  inquiry,  have  at  all  times  excited 
me  almost  beyond  endurance.  And  can  you 
wonder,  considering  everything,  that  it  is  so  r ' 

'  I'  only  wonder,  on  the  contrary,  at  your 
own  control  over  curiosity,  the  burning  curios 
ity  that  must  torment  you.  You  must  be  strong 
in  self-command.  And  yet,  it  is  very  strange  ; 
why  have  I  never  heard  one  word  of  all  this 
before  ?' 

1  Because  of  the  imperative  command.  I 
long  questioned  with  myself  whether  I  should 
break  it  to  you  at  all,  though  we  have  been 
bosom  friends  for  years,' 

'And  I — am  I  the  only  being  to  whom 
you ' 

'  No — I  know  what  you  would  ask.  There 
is  yet  another ' 

4  And  that  other  is ' 

*  Your  sister.' 

4  Ha  !'  exclaimed  Eugene. 

4  Why  do  you  start  ?'  resumed  the  student. 
4  To  her,  also 

The  sentence  was  not  completed.  The 
merchant's  clerk  had  nervously  grasped  his 
friend's  arm,  and,  with  his  lips  sternly  com 
pressed,  was  gazing  intently  into  the  student's 
startled  face.  His  voice  was  husky  as  he  said, 
while,  tremulous  with  excitement,  were  his 
words, — 

4  My  sister — you  have  seen  her,  then,  once 
more  ?  Tell  me,  Henry  Vernon,  tell  me  why 
is  it  that  you  thus  seek  her  out  ?  Answer  me, 
.truly,  Harry.' 

It  was  with  a  look  of  half  wonder  that  the 
youth  replied, — 

4  Because — because  I  LOVE  her,  Lincoln. — 
How  can  you  ask  ?  what  else  should  draw  me 
to  her  side  ?' 

4  Hark,  Henry  Vernon,  hearken  to  me  ! — 


You  are  young  and  heedless — you  have  the 
reputation  of  being  wild — perhaps  you  are 
dissipated — how  do  I  know  but  that  you  now 

1  Lincoln— my  friend  !'  remonstrated  the 
boy. 

4  Nay,  hear  me  !  For  all  that  I  may  know 
of  your  habits,  you  may  be — mark  me,  you 
MAY  be,  like  so  many  of  the  young  men  who 
fill  our  universities,  fortune  courted  sons, — a 
roue  and  a  libertine.' 

4  Eugene !'. 

4  One  moment  hold, — you  MAY  be  such,  I 
say — 'tis  possible — POSSIBLE,  only.  Still,  'tis 
a  brother's  duty  to  guard  even  against  that 
possibility.  In  seeking  my  sister's  society, — 
in  wealth  and  station  so  greatly  your  inferior, 
the  rich  student's  object,  might  well  seem  to 
be  her  ruin  and ' 

4  Stop,  sir,  you  have  gone  far  enough — too 
far  already,  sir !'  interposed  Vernon.  abruptly, 
with  a  firm  and  decided  air.  4  In  your  goner- 
ous  concern  for  a  dear  sister,  you  may  pre 
sume  even  too  greatly  on  the  forbearance  of 
a  friend.  I  tell  you,  Eugene  Lincoln,  you 
have  mistaken  me,  though  it  be  but  by  a  pas 
sing  thought.  Sooner  than  wrong  in  word  or 
act  your  gentle  sister,  I  would  freely,  gladly, 
have  surrendered  the  life  one  moment  since 
preserved  by  you.  Is  this  the  way  that  Henry 
Vernon  has  learned  te  show  his  gratitude — to 
prove  the  pure  love  he  feels  for  one  so  dear  to 
you  ?  would  this  be  the  Henry  Vernon  you 
have  known  so  long  ?  And  here  I  tell  you,  to 
your  face,  Eugene,  that  if  any  other  than  you 
had  dared  to  breathe  that  dark  suspicion,  I 
would  have  struck  him  dead  at  my  feet !  No, 
no,  Eugene  Lincoln  you  wronged  me  there.' 

4 1  did  !  indeed  I  dil  I  do  believe  you,  from 
my  very  heart  I  do,'  fervently  iterated  his  com 
panion,  convinced  by  his  proud  sincerity  of 
manner  ;  '  forgive  me  for  the  doubts — 1  should 
have  thought  of  your  noble  nature  and  scouted 
the  fear  at  once.  But,  as  plainly  as  you  your 
self  have  spoken,  do  I  now  declare  to  you, 
that  had  you  one  thought  of  evil  toward  my 
cherished  Ellen,  friendship  itself  should  not 
have  saved  you  from  a  brother's  vengeance, 
though  that  vengeance  had  forever  lost  me  the 
only  faithful  friend  I  ever  knew.  But  enough  • 
say  we  are  friends  once  more  again  ?' 

k  There  is  my  hand  on  it,'  replied  the  frank 
and  open-hearted  Vernon,  who  was  not  one 
to  decline  the  honestly  proffered  reconcilia 
tion.  '  It  is  forgotten but  hist :  there  is 


KIT  CARSON, 


15 


the  sound  of  feet  down  the  avenue — hush !  do 
you  not  hear  men  running  ?  Ha  !  the  watch, 
the  watch !— we  had  quite  forgotten.  By 
Heaven  they  are  upon  us  ! — they  are  upon 
us!' 

4  No,  no  !  there  is  yet  time— we  may  yet 
escape  pursuit,' cried  his  companion  hurriedly. 

'  True,  if  we  are  speedy  ;  but  we  must  be 
fleet  of  foot  and  fly  different  ways.  As  for 
this  clrunken  friend  of  mine,  we  must  leave 
him — but  what  has  become  of  the  fellow  ? — 
gone,  by  my  faith  !' 

Turning  in  surprise,  both  saw  that,  taking 
advantage  of  their  engrossing  converse,  the 
fallen  man  had  so  far  recovered,  in  the  brief 
interim  that  had  elapsed,  so  as  to  rise  and  steal 
quietly  away,  unperceived  until  now,  when, 
disappearing  down  a  distant  walk,  they  caught 
a  glimpse  of  his  receding  figure,  staggering 
and  reeling  as  he  went — but  whether  from  the 
effect  of  his  stunning  fall  or  the  remains  of 
intoxication,  the  two  friends  neither  knew  nor 
halted  to  inquire. 

The  young  men  now  realized  at  once  that 
no  time  was  to  be  lost,  for,  through  the  win 
ter-bared  branches  of  the  leafless  trees,  the 
dark  forms  of  the  hurrying  police  began  one 
by  one  to  appear.  Waving  his  hand  to  his 
friend,  Vernon  darted  away  in  the  direction  of 
the  neighboring  colleges,  whither  his  fugitive 
fellow  students  had  in  the  intervening  time 
preceded  him  ;  and  Lincoln,  once  more  left 
alone,  diverging  at  right  angles  from  the  fast- 
approaching  watch,  crossed  with  a  fleet  foot, 
the  grounds  of  Old  Harvard,  and  leaping  the 
college  wall  with  an  agility  that  conquered  the 
difficulty  of  the  feat,  the  retreating  invader  of 
the  university's  precincts,  had  soon  distanced 
the  close  pursuing  police,  and  completely 
thrown  them  of  the  scent. 

Across  to  Charlestown,  over  Charlestown 
Bridge,  into  Washington  street,  once  more, 
successively  he  passed,  and  in  an  hour  re 
gained  at  length  the  store  whence  he  had  that 
night  departed,  little  anticipating  the  adven 
ture  that  had  befallen  him.  The  well-known 
chimes  of  the  Old  South  were  just  striking 
the  first  hour  of  the  morning,  as  he  entered, 
and,  with  a  slight  sigh,  re-locked  the  door. 

Wearied  and  overcome  with  the  varied  oc 
currences  of  }he  last  few  hours,  he  re-entered 
the  little  counting-room,  in  which  we  beheld 
him  for  the  first  time,  and  prepared  to  com 
mit  himself  to  repose,  for  by  night  it  was  his 
resting-place  and  chamber,  as  well  as  the 


scene  of  his  daily  toils.  .^Drawing  out  thd. 
ample  sofa-bedstead,  that  habitually  served 
him  for  a  couch,  he  prepared  to  retire  to  its 
welcome  oblivion  of  all*  life's  cares  and  sor 
rows. 

More  than  once,  in  his  various  movements, 
had  he  passed,  unsuspiciously,  the  ponderous 
iron  safe,  with  the  key  so  thoughtlessly  left  in 
the  guarded  lock.  Could  he  but  once  have 
dreamt  how  soon  the  consequences  of  that  un 
witting,  unconscious  negligence,  were  to  man 
ifest  themselves,  his  rest  would  have  been 
even  more  uneasy,  his  slumbers  yet  more 
broken  than  they  really  were. 

He  lay,  tossing  uneasily  upon  his  bed,  for 
nearly  half  an  hour  in  disquietude.  His  eyes 
would  close,  then  re-open,  then  close  again—* 
fickle  and  changing  as  a  coquette's  smile. — 
And  yet  the  finger  of  fatigue  was  heavy  upon, 
him.  He  would  have  given  the  world  for  one 
hour's  unbroken,  refreshing  rest,  but  the  dis 
turbed  state  of  his  chaotic  mind  forbade  it. 
Gradually,  however,  a  drowsiness  stole  slowly 
over  him,  and  sweet  slumber  began  to  be  less 
obdurate. 

At  length  he  slept,  but  it  was  only  by  fits 
and  starts.  Two  or  three  times  he  opened  his 
heavy  eyelids,  at  close  intervals,  fancying  he 
heard  a  noise.  This  he  naturally  attributed  to 
an  over-excited  imagination,  unstrung  by  the 
events  or  the  past  night,  and  once,  only  once, 
his  attention  was  partially  caught  by  a  peculiar 
sound  that  seemed  to  strike  dully  on  his  ear. 
But  strengthening  drowsiness  had  deadened 
his  senses  by  this  time,  and  turning  over,  me 
chanically,  he  faced  the  wall  opposite,  and 
again  lost  himself,  through  various  disturbing 
noises  appeared  ever  to  haunt  his  restless 
dreams. 

This  was  of  brief  continuance,  however. 
He  was  aroused  at  last — suddenly  aroused — 
by  a  strange  sensation  of  chilling  cold,  as  if  a 
flood  of  outer  air  had  poured  in  upon  his  per 
son.  The  stupor  of  sleep  full  upon  him,  he 
sluggishly  started  up  in  the  bed,  and  with  a 
vacant  look  gazed  wonderingly  around.  The 
fresh  air  completely  scattered  sleep  from  his 
sealed  eyelids,  however,  and  left  him  shiver 
ing  and  shuddering  with  the  same  dreamy 
consciousness  of  freezing  chill,  the  same  -icy 
feeling. 

Thoroughly  awakened,  the  succeeding  mo 
ment  heard,  clearly  and  distinctly,  a  sound 
that  startled  him.  That  startling  sound,  that 
icy  chill,  both  seemed  to  proceed  from  the 


16 


KIT  CARSON. 


wall,  the  opposite  wall  toward  which  the  rest 
less  sleeper  had  turned  his  face. 

Between  the  bed,  Ijjs  anxious  vision  and  the 
wall,  the  high  desk  at  which  he  had  been 
writing,  intervened,  completely  shutting  the 
latter  of  the  three  out  from  his  view  ;  for  his 
couch  occupied  the  farther  corner  of  the 
counting-room,  commanding,  nevertheless,  a 
full  prospect  of  the  extensive  sales-room  be 
yond,  though  so  placed  as  to  preclude  more 
than  a  partial  survey  of  the  smaller  apart 
ment  itself,  in  consequence  of  the  obstruction 
to  the  vision,  interposed  by  the  massive  escri- 
toir. 

The  sense  of  seeing  was  at  fault,  for  the 
gas-light  had  been,  of  course,  extinguished, 
and  the  store  was  in  darkness.  Abruptly, 
however,  a  bright  flood  of  moonlight  followed 
a  sharp  crash, — whence  coming  he  could  not 
divine,  and  he  looked  in  eager  expectancy 
about  him.  Still,  strange  as  it  appeared,  he 
saw  nothing  to  surprise  him  ;  yet  thence,  from 
the  wall  opposite,  the  current  of  cold  air,  the 
sudden  moonlight,  the  strange,  startling  sound 
that  he  had  heard,  all  seemed  to  spring.  That 
sound  itself,  he  fancied,  was  the  jingling  of 
precious  coin. 

And  then,  at  that  self-same  instant,  from  the 
glassy  surface  of  the  tell-tale  mirror,  far 
adown  the  long  sales-room,  he  saw,  reflected 
back  through  the  store's  whole  distance,  the 
bent  figure  of  a  man  kneeling  before  the  safe, 
with  the  iron  door  half  open,  and  one  rough 
hand  still  on  the  key  which  it  had  turned, 
while  on  the  golden  treasure  it  no  longer 
guarded,  two  ruffian  eyes  looked  covetously 
kil 

The  whole  truth  burst  upon  his  mind — the 
key  of  the  Salamander  had*  been  forgotten  in 
the  lock — the  store  had  been  forced  by  bur 
glars,  and  the  safe,  with  its  golden  thousands, 
was  at  their  mercy ! 

CHAPTER  II. 

The  Fugitive  Student— *1  Thrilling  Tragedy— 
Secret  Sorrows  of  the  Rich — Jl  Family  Mystery 
— Jin  Adventurous  Resolve — A  Plot. 

AT  once  we  must  now  return  to  the  young 
Cambridge  student,  whose  abrupt  parting  with 
his  fellow-fugitive  and  the  forced  flight  of  both, 
have  been  already  narrated. 

4  Ha !  ha  !  a  pretty  chase  I  have  led  them,' 
was  the  exulting  exclamation  of  the  dashing 
Harry  Vernon,  a  short  time  later,  as  he  em 


erged  from  the  temporary  concealment  he  had 
sought  among  the  intricacies  of  the  College 
buildings,  to  whose  friendly  shelter  he  had 
been  pursued.  , 

As  he  came  forth  from  the  shadows  of  the 
overhanging  walls,  he  halted,  pausing  to  lis 
ten.  The  distant  receding  tread  of  the  foiled 
police  in  retreat  was  faintly  to  be  heard  ;  the 
party  of  students  who  preceded  him  had  some 
time  since  disappeared,  earlier  effecting  their 
escape ;  and  the  last  tardy  lagger  knew  that 
he  was  safe  at  last.  Skirting  one  of  the  wings 
of  the  venerable  pile,  and  by  a  circuitous  route 
approaching  an  arched  doorway,  he  applied  his 
hand  quickly  and  confidently  to  the  handle  of 
the  door. 

To  his  evident  chagrin  it  refused,  repeated 
ly,  to  yied. 

*  Confusion  !'  he  muttered  ;  *  the  door  is 
locked,  the  porter  long  since  asleep  ;  those 
thoughtless  fellows  have  forgotten  to  leave  the 
bolt  unshot ;  or,  not  missing  me  in  their  pre 
cipitate  haste,  have  secured  it,  supposing  all 
safely  housed.  At  this  hour  of  the  night  there 
is  no  gaining  admittance,  here  or  elsewhere ; 
and  I  must  pass  the  remainder  in  the  open  air 
performance.  A  pleasant  prospect,  truly, — 
especially  as  I  happen  to  be  rather  fatigued 
with  this  precious  adventure  of  ours,  and  feel 
decidedly  sleepy  in  consequence !  But  stop, 
surely  that  was  my  own  horse,'  he  abruptly 
exclaimed,  as  a  shrill  neigh,  at  no  great  dis 
tance,  reached  his  ear. 

4  The  poor  beast !  he  must  be  cared  for — 
he  does  not  relish  his  strange  stall  under  yon 
der  trees,  any  more  *han  his  master  is  like  to 
be  enchanted  with  this  night's  hard  fare  ;  I  had 
quite  forgotten  him,'  pursued  the  student  in 
the  same  merry  mood  ;  '  or,  rather,  this  night's 
mad  riot  has  made  me  lose  sight  not  only  of 
him,  but  of  the  pretty  Ellen,  even,  to  whose 
sweet  presence  he  bore  me  but  this  evening. 
Heigho  !  the  poor  steed  generally  meets  with 
but  sorry  fare  when  its  rider  goes  a  wooing. 
Ah,  I  have  it.' 

Bending  his  steps  briskly  forward  in  the  di 
rection  of  a  neighboring  grove,  he  soon  return 
ed,  leading  a  spirited  bay  by  the  bridle,  his 
hand  patting  the  darker  mane  which  floated  in 
the  night-wind  from  the  superbly-arched  neck 
of  the  splendid  animal,  which  whinnied  with 
delight  at  his  master's  well-known  tone  and 
kindly  caress. 

4  Now,  my  brave  nag  and  faithful  servant, 
we  must  both  be  astir  again ;  we  cannot  re» 


KIT  CARSON. 


17 


main  here  to  catch  our  deaths  of  cold,  that  is 
certain.  There  is,  then,  no  alternative  but  to 
pass  the  night  in  the  saddle.  Ha  !  ha  !  the 
heir  to  a  hundred  thousand  compelled  to  wan 
der  houseless  in  the  streets  of  his  native  town, 
heigho  !' 

And  Jaughing  merrily  at  the  old  conceit,  he 
bounded  into  the  saddle  and  gaily  shook  the 
rein. 

The  horse  bounded  on.  There  was  nearly 
the  whole  extent  of  the  grounds  to  cross,  ere 
he  reached  the  highway.  However,  the  hour 
was  very  late — long  past  midnight — and  he 
met  no  one  in  his  way  ;  only  once  he  thought 
he  saw  a  dark  figure  moving  along  in  the  road, 
ahead.  At  a  quiet  trot  he  leisurely  proceeded 
on,  revolving  in  his  mind  the  curious  adven 
ture  that  had  forced  him  to  pass  in  the  saddle 
the  time  allotted  to  the  couch  ;  his  horse's  foot 
steps  dully  echoed  back  the  hard  turf,  but  loud 
enough  to  give  warning  of  the  horseman's  ad 
vance. 

Clear  and  cold  was  the  night ;  only  a  few 
days  previous  the  snows  of  winter  had  whiten 
ed  the  earth  beneath  the  animal's  feet ;  but  to 
a  general  thaw  had  that  night  succeeded  a 
thick  frost,  that  had  left  the  ground,  under  its 
impress,  as  hard  as  adamant.  Indeed,  so 
chilly  was  the  atmosphere,  that  Vernon,  as  he 
went  on,  drew,  with  a  slight  shiver  choser  still, 
around  his  slight  but  tall  and  graceful  figure, 
the  long,  student's  cloak  which  he  wore  over 
his  usual  dress  ;  together  with  the  peculiar 
conical  hat  once  so  much  affected  by  the 
collegians  of  Cambridge,  and  by  which  they 
are  still  wont  to  distinguish  themselves,  on 
certain  occasions.  To  this  day  it  is  well  known 
as  the  '  Student's  Hat ;'  and  from  beneath  its 
rounded  rim,  and  down  the  neck  of  Henry 
Vernon,  in  long  and  graceful  curls  fell  his  rich 
black  hair,  finely  setting  off  the  strikingly 
handsome  countenance,  with  its  dark,  spark 
ling  eyes,  its  frank  and  open  brow  :  its  fimly 
marked  chin,  bespeaking  decision,  and  finely- 
curved  mouth,  just  darkened  with  the  down  of 
dawning  manhood  ;  the  jetty  hue  of  the  bud 
ding  moustache,  heightening  in  contrast  the 
pearly  whiteness  of  teeth  that  were  parted  in 
a  natural  smile  of  easy  good-humor  and  manly 
nonchalance,  called  upon  his  arch  lip  at  the 
thought  of  his  peculiar  and  novel  situtation. 

4  There  are  clouds  coming  up — I  should  not 
be  surprised  if  it  were  to  snow  ere  long.  My 
good  steed,  you  and  I  are  assuredly  destined 
to  have  a  pleasant  snow-storm  to  add  to  other 


comforts  ;  truly,  we  have  fallen  upon  a  pretty 
run  of  luck  this  precious  night !'  jocosely  ad 
ded  the  student ;  '  and — but  aha  !  here  we  are 
at  last  on  the  open  highway.  On  brave  nag, 
on,  but  reverently,  for  we  are  bidding  fare 
well  to  classic  ground.' 

They  had  reached  the  boundaries  of  the 
university. '  The  public  road  lay  before  them. 
Vernon  touched  his  horse  lightly  with  his  heel, 
the  animal  prepared  to  leap  at  once  into  the 
broad  highway.  But  at  ftie  very  moment  that 
Vernon  took  a  tighter  hold  on  his  rein  and  the 
horse  rose  for  the  spring,  a  dark  form  started 
up  right  in  his  path  and  seized  the  bit  with  an 
iron  hand !  The  astonished  beast  recoiled^ 
affrighted,  on  his  haunches. 

Instantly,  however,  ere  young  Vernon's  cry 
of  startled  surprise  had  died  on  his  lips,  a  pistol- 
flash  blinded  him,  and  a  ball  whistled  past  his 
ear.  The  aim  had  been  true,  but  the  sudden 
shying  of  the  startled  steed  had  saved  its  living 
mark ! 

An  oath,  a  curse,  rang  on  the  air,  no  second 
pistol  was  drawn,  no  second  weapon  presen 
ted  with  the  same  murderous  purpose  ;  but  yet 
the  imperilled  student  saw  the  dark  figure's 
finger  press  again  the  same  trigger,  and  thril 
ling  with  his  danger,  quick  as  lightning  ho 
marked  the  assassin's  aim,  and  swervin  aside 
his  head  from  the  gaping  muzzle's  mouth,  ho 
caught  with  alightning  movement,  the  murder 
ous  hand,  but  not  until  it  had  been  discharged. 
With  a  crashing  sound  it  shivered  a  dry  limb 
from  the  parent  tree,  as  it  sped  on  its  way,  and 
glancing  off  at  a  sharp  angle,  buried  itself 
deep  in  the  gnarled  trunk  of  a  withered  oakt 
leaving  its  traces  along  the  ploughed-up  bark. 

The  color  left  the  flushed  face  of  the  stu 
dent,  but  not  his  courage.  With  the  same 
cool  intrepidity  with  which  he  had  seized  the. 
assassin's  arm,  untimidatcd  by  that  fearful 
warning  of  what  his  fate  might  have  been,  he 
shifted  his  hold  to  the  wrist,  and  from  that  to 
the  butt  of  the  smoking  pistol,  which  he  still 
grasped,  and  despite  the  struggles  of  his  foe, 
succeeded  in  so  far  wringing  round  both  limfr 
and  weapon,  as  to  bring  the  butt  itself  withitt 
his  own  grasp,  in  the  resolute  effort  to  wrest 
from  the  villain  the  means  of  executing  his 
hellish  intent. 

In  the  momentary  but  furious  struggle  for 
its  possession,  the  rnuzzie  having  thus  become 
turned  for  the  instant  to  the  breast  of  the  ruf 
fian,  the  finger  of  Vernon  came  in  contact  with 
the  twice-pulled  trigger,  when  to  his  unutter- 


18 


KIT  CARSON 


able  amazement,  the  already  twice-discharged 
pistol  accidentally  went  off,  and  its  charge 
passed  into  the  neck  of  the  intended  murderer, 
who,  relinquishing  his  hold,  sank  with  a  yell  of 
terrific  agony  upon  his  knee,  almost  beneath  the 
the  horse's  hoofs, — then,  with  one  hand  pressed 
with  spasmodic  energy  against  his  blood-dyed 
forehead,  fell  with  one  low  moan  backward  ! 

Like  a  marble  statue,  petrified  with  horror, 
utterly  motionless,  h}s  eyes  closed  to  shut  out 
the  ghastly  spectacle,  his  arm,  with  its  firmly- 
clutched  weapon,  stiffened  by  the  same  feel 
ing,  in  its  outstretched  attitude,  sat  the  student 
on  his  horse  !  And  while  such  was  the  fright 
ful  scene,  a  strange  and  thrilling  circumstance, 
deepened  the  dark  tableau. 

The  pistol,  still  outstreached  in  that  para 
lysed  grasp,  continued  to  discharge  ball  after 
ball,  with  stunning  sound  and  thickening 
smoke,  until  full  four  death-winged  bullets  had 
pierced  the  grovelling  body  of  the  wounded 
wretch ! 

At  length  from  that  soul-freezing  stupor  the 
involuntary  homicide  awoke,  so  far  as  to  turn 
upon  the  fatal  weapon  in  his  hand  a  look  of 
horrified  inquiry. 

The  truth  flashed  upon  him  ;  it  was  not  a 
double-barrelled  pistol,  as  he  had  first  con 
ceived,  when  it  was  twice  in  succession  dis 
charged  at  them.  No,  it  was  a  far  more  fear 
ful  weapon, — one  of  Colt's  six-barrelled  re 
volvers,  the  deadliest  of  invented  instruments 
of  death !  His  petrified  finger  had  been 
glued,  as  it  were,  to  the  trigger,  and  involun 
tarily  fired  the  four  remaining  balls,  each  of 
which  alone  carried  destruction  to  the  doomed 
victim  of  his  own  villainy. 

But  the  final  surprise  was  yet  to  come,  as, 
bending  down  from  his  saddle,  he  sought  to 
examine  the  state  of  the  stricken  man.  The 
faint  light  of  the  moonbeams  disclosed  to  his 
blood-shot  eyes,  the  form  and  and  face  of  the 
rival  leader  of  the  rioters,  the  burly  laborer, 
who,  in  his  supposed  intoxication,  had  attempt 
ed  to  strangle  him  m  the  mad  fury  of  the  fight. 
Springing  from  his  horse,  Vernon  bent  over 
the  dying  man. 

4  Miserable  man!  who  are  you?'  he  in  a 
thrilling  tone  exclaimed,  '  and  what  prompted 
you  to  this  dark  act  ?' 

The  other  gasped  for  breath,  and  seemed 
vainly  struggling  for  speech. 

'Speak!  was  it  robbery — cupidity — that 
tempted  you,  or  was  it  drunken  vengeance  ? 
Speak !  I  freely  forgive  you  the  fell  attempt ; 


think  that  you  may  be  asking  of  Heaven  the 
same,  ere  to-morrow's  sun  rises,  and  propitiate 
its  mercy  by  confession,  at  least.  That 
Heaven  has  willed  that,  by  my  hand,  you 
should  fall — though  not,  indeed,  by  my  own 
intent.' 

The  fainting  wretch  with  difficulty  raised 
himself  partly  upon  his  arm,  slowly  falter 
ing,— 

'  Your  name — your  own  name  is — is  Vei- 
non — Henry  Vernon  ?' 

Again  the  unfortunate  man  fell  back,  with  a 
groan. 

'  Ha  !  you  know  me,  then  ?  but  no,  he  must 
have  learned  it  from  the  rioters,'  added  the 
student,  aside.  '  But  why  this  strange  ma 
lignity  toward  me  ?  What  could  lead  you  to 
the  fatal  attempt  that  made  me,  not  your  vic 
tim,  but  your  murderer?'  in  wild  agitation  he 
demanded. 

With  the  strangely  revived  strength  which 
precedes  dissolution,  the  assassin,  half  starting 
up,  gasped  out, — 

4  Your  uncle  !  your  uncle  !  Henry  Vernon 
— hold  down  your  head — come  nearer — yet 
nearer.  It  was  a  plot — a  plot — all  a  plot ! — 
the  riot,  the  riot  itself  was  a  part  of  that  plot, 
urged  on  by  me,  the  tool.  Its  object, — to  stab 
you  in  a  street  fight,  and  thus  prevent  dis 
covery.  Failing  in  this — in  this  cunning 
snare,  I — I  waylaicUyou  here.  You  know  the 

rest  ;  all  save — save O  God  !  that  pain  !' 

screamed  the  writhing  sufferer.  '  Your  uncle, 
boy  !  beware — I — I  warn  you  to ' 

And  the  breath  left,  with  the  words,  his 
body — the  death  rattle  rang  in  his  throat. 

He  to  whom  the  deceased  had  breathed  out 
his  dying  confession,  wajted  for  the  words  as 
yet  unspoken — but  to  mortals  the  dead  never 
speak. 

'  Dead  ! — and  his  tale  half  finished  !'  mur 
mured  the  student,  who,  to  himself,  seemed  in 
a  dream ;  '  but  enough  is  left  for  surmise  ; 
enough  spoken  to  place  me  on  the  scent.  My 
uncle,  my  miser  uncle  !  an$»has  your  avarice 
even  stooped  to  this  ?  Home  ! — thither  am  I 
now  summoned  !' 

One  last  look  at  the  dead  man's  body,  one 
last  glance  at  the  dead  man's  face ;  a  world 
of  wild  emotion  in  each  repetition  of  that  brief 
survey  ;  and  the  no  longer  gay  and  reckless, 
student,  re-mounting  his  horse,  gave  the  rein 
to  the  good  steed  and  dashed  rapidly  away. 
The  approaching  snow-storm,  of  which  the 
overcast  Heavens  had  previously  given  him 


KIT  CARSON. 


19 


the  unerring  auguries,  was  now  close  at  hand, 
and  even  as  the  animal  leaped  forward,  the 
first  few  flakes  began  to  fall,  and  leave  behind 
the  impress  of  his  hoofs. 

Ere  half  the  way  to  the  adjoining  city  had 
been  measured,  both  horse,  and  rider  were 
white  with  the  driving  sleet,  that  fell  thick  and 
fast  around,  as  the  student  galloped  madly  on, 
nor  once  halted  in  his  swift  career  until  he 
reached,  at  length,  Charlestown  Bridge. 

The  heaviest  snow-storm  of  the  season 
clogged  up  the  streets  and  pavements  of  the 
great  city,  and  the  whitened  house-tops  were 
like  so  many  sheets  of  ivory  in  the  glancing 
rays  of  the  morning  sun,  when  a  young  man 
hastily  ascended  the  stately  steps  of  a  splen 
did  mansion,  and  was  instantly  admitted  by 
the  obsequious  footman  of  one  of  the  most  noted 
fashionables  of  Beacon-street. 

The  shrewd  reader  need  not  be  told,  that  it 
was  none  other  than  Henry  Vernon  in  the 
aristocratic  home  of  his  nabob  father.  Learn 
ing,  from  a  hurried  question  from  the  servant, 
that  the  family  were  partaking  of  the  morning 
meal,  he  prepared  to  descend  at  once  to  the 
breakfast-room.  Made  aware,  by  a  single 
glance  at  the  magnificent  pier-glass,  as  he 
passed  from  the  drawing-room,  that  his  face 
was  still  pale  and  his  eye  still  glaring,  he 
stopped  for  a  moment  to  collect  and  compose 
himsell  for  meeting  the  family  circle.  How 
far  he  succeeded  in  banishing  the  traces  of  a 
disordered  mind,  however,  was  at  once  an 
nounced  by  a  hurried  exclamation, — 

4  Henry!  Henry!' 

The  words  were  in  the  alarmed  tones  a 
mother's  voice  only  knows,  and  the  whole 
party  sat  gazing  in  mute  wonderment  at  the 
unusual  aspect  of  the  intruder, 

To  the  latter,  the  commotion  caused  by  his 
appearance  was  no  marvel ;  he  had  himself 
been  startled  by  its  wild  ness,  which,  however, 
the  mirrors  had  fla'tered  than  otherwise,  so 
that  he  was  not  fully  aware  of  how  much  it 
startled  them.  It  was  in  a  tone  less  indicative 
of  alarm,  but  still  marked  by  earnest  inquiry, 
that  the  father  asked, —  - 

4  Henry,  what  is  the  meaning  of  all  this — 
what  has  occurred  ?  Your  cheek  has  lost  its 
color  and  your  lip  is  ashy  pale  ;  you  have  all 
the  signs  of  violent  and  recent  excitement 
about  you  !' 

c  I  doubt  it  not,  sir,'  answered  the  young 
man,  calmly. 


4  Ha  !  that  quiet  tone  contrasts  strangely 
with  your  blanched  brow  and  haggard  face, 
Henry,  I  most  know  what  has  happened,  te 
work,  in  so  short  a  time,  a  revolution,  so  com 
plete  in  you  ?' 

4  Yes,  Henry,  yes,'  urged  the  anxious  mo 
ther,  '  confide  in  us — let  your  parents  know 
all ;  conceal  nothing,  my  boy  ?  4  Is  it,'  she 
faltered,  4  the  result,  merely,  of  a  night's  dis 
sipation — perhaps  some  youthful  indiscretion 
— or — or — no,  I  can  NOT  believe  it  of  you,  my 
noble  boy  ! — a — a  CRIME  ?' 

4  Crime  !'  echoed  the  son,  almost  indignant 
ly.  4  Mother,  mother !  "When  Henry  Vernon 
stoops  to  CRIME,  he  will  have  ceased  to  be 
your  son !'  was  the  firm  and  proud  reply. 

For  a  moment  he  paused  in  deep  thought, 
then  turning  to  them  again  his  countenance, 
he  said, — 

4  Enough,  my  parents  ;  let  me  at  once  dis 
pel  this  cruel  suspicion.  I  should  have  been 
more  weary  in  appearing  before  you  ;  I  should 
not  have  suffered  you  to  see  me  thus.  But  the 
act  is  now  beyond  re-call,  and  though  I  may 
not  retrieve  that  error  I  at  least  can  now  tell 
you  that  which  at  once  will  quiet  that  hasty 
fear,  though  it  may  leave  you  to  conflicting 
doubts  and  anxious  speculations, — I  must  leave 
Boston !' 

Had  he  spoken  to  his  bewildered  listeners 
of  suicide  instead,  they  could  not  have  been 
more  utterly  confounded  than  at  that  declara 
tion. 

4  Leave  Boston  !'  at  length  echoed  the  as 
tounded  father.  4  Leave  college,  Henry  ? — - 
are  you  mad  ?' 

1  No,  sir,  I  am  not — though  this  haggard 
face,  and  that  strange  announcement  may 
well  seem  to  indicate  it.  I  repeat,  sir,  I  must 
leave  Harvard  and  quit  this  city  as  soon  as 
possible,  aye,  sir,  before  the  snow  that  fell  the 
past  night  shall  melt  from  yonder  ground ' 

4  Henry — my  son  !' 

4  Do  not,  do  not  interrupt  me,  sir.  I  must 
not  explain  my  reasons — enough  that  for  the 
present  I  must  abandon  home,  friends,  plea 
sure,  all ' 

4  Stop,  mad  boy  !  stop ' 

4  Enough,  sir,  that  'tis  necessity,  iron  neces 
sity,  that  summons  me  away.  Enough,  my 
mother — last  of  all,  but  first  in  consequence 
— that  'tis  a  strange,  stern  fate  which  actuates 
your  son,  not  any  fault  or  misdeed  of  his  own 
— ah !  my  dearest  parents,  did  you  but  know 
the  events  of  the  last  night,  the  startling  oo 


20 


KIT  CARSON. 


eurrences  that  have  left  their  traces  here  upon 
Hay  face,  you  would  acquit  me  of  all  blame, 
and  only  pity  me.' 

His  drooping  form,  his  downcast  eye,  his 
mournful  tone  as  he  muttered  these  words, 
were  powerful  in  their  impression  on  those 
who  heard.  To  a,  mother's  heart  they  spoke, 
at  least,  conviction ;  as  that  mother  murmur 
ed, — 

'My  poor,  poor  boy,  I  do  believe  you !' and 
rising,  wound  her  arms,  in  fondness,  around 
his  neck. 

4  But  a  father's  sterner  nature  was  not  so 
easily  satisfied, — 

*  Your  motives !  your  motives,  boy,  for  this 
unheard-of  step.  At  once  disclose  your  se 
cret  reasons.  I  insist  upon  it — nay,  I  order 
you !' 

4  Father,  do  you  wish  to  force  me  to  diso 
bedience  ?*  was  the  excited  son's  meaning 
demand. 

'  Obstinate,  obdurate  boy  !'  uttered  the  dis 
pleased  parent. 

'  Nay,  sir,  one  day  you  will  concede  that 
your  son  was  right,  even  in  concealing 
this,  from  those  who  have  the  best  claim  to 
know.  I  speak  not  idly,  sir — as  Heaven  is 
my  witness,  the  time  will  yet  come  when 
all 

He  stopt  abruptly  in  his  emphatic  speech  as 
he  suddenly  saw  by  his  father's  abstracted 
face  and  averted  eye  that  he  was  unheard, 
unheeded  by  him  ;  while  as  he  gazed  the  lat 
ter,  wholly  unconscious  of  what  he  said,  mut 
tered  absently, — 

4  Strange,  strange  fatality  !' 

The  singular  expression  of  the  features,  the 
sudden  contortion  of  the  muscles  of  the  face 
which  accompanied  the  exclamation,  seemed 
to  strike  the  son. 

4 1  have  seen  that  strange  look  before,*  he 
murmured  quickly, '  but  never  save  when  ex 
cited  on  a  peculiar  subject.  Can  it  be  be,'  he 
added,  thoughtfully,  4  that  this  unexpected 
communication  in  reference  to  myself,  has 
connected  that  topic  with  me  in  his  mind  ?  If 
so,  then  here  is  a  favorable  opportunity  I  have 
long  sought  in  vairt  ;  and  ha  !  I  will  not  lose  it.' 

Then  with  the  eagerness  of  a  suddenly  sug 
gested  thought,  he  said  aloud,  addressing  his 
fethery— 

4 Strange  fatality,  my  father?  what  mean 
you  by  these  words  ?  Is  it,  that  the  thought 
of  thus  losing  for  a  while  one  son,  recalls  the 
memory  of  another  ?' 


The  elder  Vernon  sprang  to  his  feet,  as  if 
stung  by  a  serpent. 

4  Another  !'  he  ejaculated, 4  ANOTHER  ?  ha  ! 
boy!  Utter  that  word  again  at  your  peril— 
who  taught  you  to  speak  that  forbidden  word  ? 
Henry,  Henry,  have  I  not  commanded  you 
never  to  allude  to  this,  never  once  to  breathe 
the  subject  to  me  or  any  living  being  ?  And 
do  you  dare  disobey  me,  dare  defy  my  ex 
press  commands?' 

His  features  livid  with  anger,  each  convulsed 
with  struggling  passion,  his  hands  clenched 
until  the  nails  pierced  the  bleeding  skin,  the 
speaker,  the  very  picture  of  ungovernable  ag 
itation,  stood  erect  and  glaring  upon  his  son  ! 
But  for  an  instant  only — the  next  moment  he 
turned  that  withering  glance  on  his  wife  ,ex- 
claiming, — 

4  Woman !  is  this  YOUR  handiwork  !  is  it 
you  that  have  whispered  this  in  your  spoiled 
son's  ears — from  you  that  he  has  gained  the 
vague  hint  that  must  lead  to  the  inquiries  ? 
Is  it  YOU,  then,  that  have  suffered  even  the 
faintest  breath  to  escape  you,  of  that  which 
was  to  remain  a  secret  with  us  both  till  death  ! 
Answer  me,  woman !' 

4  Husband,  husband  ?'  murmured  depreca- 
tingly,  the  gentle  wife,  appalled  by  his  vehe 
mence. 

^    Ere  she  could  add  all  she  would  have  said, 
her  son  interposed, — 

4  Hold,  my  father,  hold  !  You  wrong  her 
there.  She  never  betrayed  your  confidence, 
your  secret,  if  such  it  is — she  never  once  led 
to  that  subject,  nor  when  I  myself,  at  times, 
mooted  it,  did  she  ever  give  me  the  least  sat 
isfaction.'  w*'; ' 

'  Ha !  then  you  HAVE  spoken  to  your  mo 
ther  on  this  point,  frequently  ?'  said  the  father, 
wtih  a  strong  effort  to  control  his  increasing 
agitation. 

'  I  have,  sir,  I  have.  How  could  it  be  other 
wise  with  a  mother  whom  I  dearly  loved  and 
honored  ?  I  tell  you,  father,  from  my  very 
boyhood  there  has  been  a  mystery  within  this 
family,  that  to  me  has  been  a  constant  source 
of  doubt  and  wonder,  and  anxious  perplexity. 
Can  you — will  you — dare  you  deny  that  once 
I  had  a  brother  ?  Speak  !  I  entreat  you  !' 

There  was  no  answer,  though  he  paused  in 
silent  expectation. 

4  Ah !  you  are  speechless,  you  give  me  no 
reply.  But  think  you  that  a  child  is  without 
memory  to  retain,  or  mind  to  comprehend, 
the  events  which  happen  in  its  little  world  ? 


KIT  CARSON. 


21 


No,  no ;  the  recollections  of  my  early  child 
hood  are  vividly  impressed  upon  my  mind, 
and  most  distinct  among  them  is  the  remem 
brance  I  have  of  a  little  child  at  play  with 
me,  who  called  me  his  '  little  brother,'  and 
used  to  lisp,  in  concert  with  my  own  infant 
lips,  '  mamma.''  This,  and  more  I  can  very 
clearly  recall,  to 'prove  that  I  am  not  an  only 
^hild — -nor  your  first-born.  In  vain  I  perplex 
myself  to  understand  why  the  loss  of  a  child 
should  be  kept  so  profound  a  secret  in  a  fa 
mily,  and  even  the  very  fact  of  its  existence, 
sought  to  be  disguised. 

6  Why,  why,  I  have  asked  myself  a  thou 
sand  times  is  a  son  to  be  kept  in  ignorance  of 
a  circumstance  that  concerns  him  so  vitally  ? 
Great  God,  only  think  of  it,'  he  ejaculated, 
impulsively  ;  '  but  for  childhood's  vivid  recol 
lections,  I  should  never  have  known  that  I 
had  ever  such  a  relative  as  a  brother  in  being 
-—perhaps  it  would  have  been  better  had  a 
treacherous  memory  denied  me  even  that 
limited  knowledge,  for  then  I  should  never 
have  been  thus  continually  tormented  by  con 
flicting  suspicions  or  devouring  curiosity,  re 
garding  that  ever  unexplained  disappearance.' 

4  Suspicion  !'  repeated  the  other  with  a  ner 
vous  start ;  '  no,  no  ;  the  disguise,  the  deceit, 
the  delusion  of  years,  that  crafty  crime  !  no, 
no,  he  knows  nothing,  nothing  of  that,'  escaped 
unconsciously  from  the  abstracted  speaker's 
lips.  'To  her,  her  only,  are  they  known — 
and  should  it  ever  be  discovered  !  but,  no,  the 
secret  is  safe  with  her.  Ha,  ha  !  boy  listen 
ing  to  my  wandering  words  ?'  he  sternly  de 
manded. 

4  Aye,  sir,  in  the  faint  hope  that  you  will 
give  me  the  clue  to  them.  O  do  not  refuse 
me  this  last  appeal !  I  feel,  indeed,  that  I 
cannot  leave  you,  till  this  strange  uncertainty 
is  at  least  in  some  measure  dispelled.  Had 
an  ordinary  fate  been  rny  brother's  ;  hacl  he 
died  or  perished  by  some  accident,  or  did 
some  dreadful  uncertainty  cloud  his  fate';  or, 
if  living,  had  he  been  lost  or  stolen,  I  could 
easily  account,  in  some  such  way,  for  the  dis 
appearance.  Say,  father,  say,  ere  I  leave  you, 
will  you  not  take  back  that  stern  denial,  and 
at  last  confide  ?' 

A  sudden  cry  from  his  mother,  at  this  junc 
ture  interrupted  the  son's  earnest  appeal.  He 
turned,  just  in  time  to  catch  within  his  arms 
,.his  father's  falling  form. 

The  elder  Vernon,  overpowered  by  his 
emotions,  had  swooned. 


Shocked  by  this  unlooked-for  occurrence, 
yet  less  startled  than  they  might  have  been, 
from  their  knowledge  of  the  usual  effects  of 
over-excitement  upon  his  peculiarly  nervous 
temperament,  Henry  and  his  mother,  in  alarm, 
rang  for  the  servants  to  come  to  the  assistance 
of  their  fainting  master ;  and  by  their  eager 
aid  the  unconscious  nabob  was  bore  tenderly 
to  his  room,  where  instant  and  powerful  res 
toratives  were  applied,  and  at  length,  with 
some  signs  of  success,  to  the  great  joy  of  wife 
and  son. 

4  Go  into  the  drawing-room,  Henry,1  said 
the  anxious  mother,  'and  there  wait  for  me. 
The  sight  of  you,  at  present,  may  only  renew 
his  agitation.  I  will  shortly  rejoin  you.  Your 
father  is  in  no  danger  ;  go,  my  dear  boy,  go.' 

The  young  man  aware  that  his  father  was 
subject,  in  moments  of  violent  excitement,  to 
these  nervous  fainting  fits,  and  his  mind  com 
paratively  easy  on  this  score,  descended  to  the 
parlor  and  flung  himself  npon  a  sofa,  in  mo 
mentary  expectation  of  his  mother's  return. 
He  had  not  long  to  wait ;  Mrs.  Vernon  speed 
ily  reappeared,  and,  alone,  now  with  her  son, 
drew  a  chair  close  beside  him. 

4  Dear  boy,'  she  murmured,  in  a  choked 
voice,  '  I  can  scarce  believe  this  is  not  all  a 
dream ;  your  strange  appearance  here,  this 
morning  ;  your  proposed  departure  or  flight, 
from  the  city  that  gave  you  birth,  and  all  this 
for  reasons  which  you  persist  in  hiding  beneath 
utter  secresy.' 

4  Ay,  secrecy,  dear  mother ;  secrecy  as 
close  as  that  with  which  my  father  has  seen  fit 
to  hedge  round  that  which  well  I  may  term 
the  mystery  of  our  family.' 

4  Recur  to  that  no  more,  Henry  ;  your  fa 
ther's  displeasure ' 

4  Enough !  I  will  not,  if  only  for  your  sake, 
mother.  Curiosity  may  devour  me,  but  I  will 
never  thus  offend  you  ;  if  I  may  not  be  your 
confidant,  perish  forever  the  forbidden  topic  ! 
And  now,  to  change  the  subject,  where  is  my 
uncle  ?'  asked  the  student,  in  an  easy,  care 
less  manner. 

4  Your  uncle,  Henry  ?  He  is  in  his  own 
room,  I  believe,  if  the  confusion  has  not  sum 
moned  him  from  it ;'  was  the  reply  of  the  lady 
T— who  saw  not  the  latent  meaning  that  lay- 
beneath  the  inquiry. 

4  He  seldom  stirs  abroad  now  ?'  inquired  the 
youth. 

4  Not  if  we  can  help  it,'  she  replied.  4  His 
infirmities  increase  with  his  gray  hairs,  and 


KIT  CARSON. 


his  passion  of  avarice  has  become  a  species  of 
insanity.' 

'  Insanity  !' 

1  Yes,  such  it  is,  such  it  must  be  called. — 
Every  day  beholds  him  more  penurious  and 
griping,  more  miserly  than  before.  Every 
thing  that  he  can  convert  into  cash,  he  appro- 
priates,  and  that  with  a  shrewdness  and  cun 
ning  that  surprise  even  your  father,  who  so 
well  knows  him.  It  is  impossible  to  cure  him 
of  this  habit ;  his  deeply-pained  brother  has 
.already  been  compelled  to  reimburse  plunder 
ed  merchants  to  double  the  amount  of  his  re* 
peated  larcenies,  and  hush  the  matter  upas  well 
as  he  might.' 

4  It  is  most  provoking,'  remarked  the  stu 
dent. 

4  It  is,  my  son  ;  it  is  a  constant  source  of 
anxiety  to  your  poor  father.  It  is  useless  to 
furnish  him  with  deceut  clothes  or  the  means 
to  purchase  them  ;  the  first  are  exchanged  for 
gold,  the  other  is  added  to  his  secret  hoard 
ings  ;  and  he  goes  so  poorly— dressed  as  to  fill 
to  overflowing,  the  measure  of  our  mortifica 
tion.' 

4  Why,  then,  demanded  the  nephew,  coolly, 
'  longer  suffer  him  to  remain  a  burden  upon 
you  ?' 

'  He  is  your  uncle,  Henry,  your  father's 
only  brother,'  said  the  lady,  with  calm  dig 
nity  ;  l  he  is  known  as  such — known  even  to 
our  fashionable  acquaintance,  who  affect  to 
pity  his  eccentricities  because  he  is  brother  to 
-a  millionaire. 

1  One  thing  1  have,  of  late  observed,  never 
theless,'  pursued  she,  dropping  her  voice  to  a 
meaning  tone, — 4  a  thing  perhaps,  that  I  may 
Tiave  warned  you  of  before.  Your  uncle  is  as 
revengeful  as  he  is  miserly— I  can  see  it  in  his 
•every  action  ;  so  great  is  the  ascendancy  his 
unfortunate  infirmity  of  mind  has  gained  over 
Tiim,  that  I  am  convinced  that  he  would  not 
scruple  at  any  means  to  gratify  either  of  those 
passions.' 

4  Ha  !'  cried  Henry,  involuntarily — but  he 
immediately  checked  himself,  and  waved  his 
mother  to  go  on. 

4  Even  so ;  I  should  tremble  for  that  person 
who  should  chance  to  incur  his  dislike  or  en 
mity,  or  prove  a  barrier  to  his  grasping  avar 
ice.' 

'  And  has  he  the  requisite  skill  to  cloak  his 
views  and  purposes,  think  you  ?'  asked  Harry, 
thoughtfully. 

*You  mean  the  wily  craft   which  is  said  to 


be  so  often  the  gift  of  insanity  ?  I  am  satisfied 
of  it,  my  son  ;  the  fox  is  not  more  artful  than 
isxyour  miser  uncle.  But  this,  Henry,  is  not 
all,  within  a  very  few  days,  I  know  not  that  I 
ought  to  mention  it — >we  have  tried  to  conceal 
it ' 

'  What,  my  mother,  what  ?'  interrupted 
Vernon,  whose  impatience  ill  brooked  the  half- 
hesitating  tone  of  the  last  words,  for  his  curios 
ity  had  been  additionally  increased  by  her 
manner. 

4  It  is  to  a  marked  change  in  his  deportment 
lately,  that  I  refer,  a  change  for  the  worst, 
decidedly.  He  has  become  unusually  ner 
vous,  fretful  and  peevish ;  he  is  continually 
muttering  to  himself  of '  his  darling  gold,'  and 
his  mind  seems  to  be  full  of  some  new  scheme 
which  engrosses  all  his  time  and  thoughts.  I 
fear  me  much  that  the  precautions  your  father 
has  taken  are  in  vain-,  and  that  like  so  many 
thousand  others  he  is  laboring  under ' 

4  Ha !  I  know  what  you  would  say— the 
California  Gold  fever !' 

'  The  same,'  aswered  the  lady,  with  a 
smile — 4  the  same  epidemic  which  has  seized 
such  numbers,  and  which  has  proved  suffi 
ciently  fatal  to  the  young  and  adventurous. 
Think  what  must  be  the  effect  upon  one  of 
your  uncle's  grasping  character,  the  demon  of 
avarice  roused  to  fury  by  the  magic  tales  of 
the  gold  discoveries,  the  soul  of  the  miser 
could  rest  in  no  paradise  like  this  elysium  of 
wondrous  wraith.' 

4  True,  mother,  true,'  abstractedly  mutter 
ed  Henry. 

4  And,'  pursued  the  mother,  4  if  those  re 
ports  have  reached  his  ear,  as  I  have  every 
reason  to  believe  is  the  cause,  I  do  not  think 
any  earthly  power,  short  of  chains  or  a  prison, 
can  long  keep  him  here.  With  his  accus 
tomed  cunning  and  secrecy,  he  may  be  now 
preparing.' 

Without  changing  a  muscle,  the  youth  had 
listened  to  the  speaker,  and  now  in  a  meaning 
tone  he  said,--- 

4  Now  listen  to  me,  mother.  I  have  heard 
you  out,  not  without  some  surprise,  I  confess, 
at  your  suspicions  regarding  John  Vernon,  my 
uncle.  I,  too,  am  going  to  California  !' 

4  To  California  !  Henry !'  iterated  Mrs.  Ver 
non,  taken  completely  by  surprise.  4  To  Cali 
fornia  ? 

4  Yes,  mother,'  in  the  same  calm  tone,  re 
plied  the  son. 

4  Good  Heaven !    are  you  serious  ?    You*-* 


KIT    CARSON. 


23 


the  son  of  a  millionaire,  the  child  of  luxury 
and  fortune  from  your  birth,  the  heir  to  a 
nabob's  wealth  !  you  go  to  California  !  this 
looks  almost  like  insanity.' 

4 1  go  not  to  enrich  myself— I  go  not  with  an 
avaricious  spirit  to  swell  an  already  princely 
inheritance,'  he  vehemently  exclaimed.  4  And 
have  I  not  told  you,  mother,  that  events,  into 
an  explanation  of  which  I  may  not  enter,  had 
rendered  absolutely  necessary  my  absence 
from  this  city  at  the  present  time.  Abroad, 
for  some  months,  for  a  year  or  more,  perhaps 
I  must  go,  when  the  gold  frenzy  is  raging, 
when  ships  are  sailing  and  new  companies 
daily  forming  for  the  fresh  found  El  Dorado, 
when  every  town  and  hamlet  throughout  the 
Union's  length  and  breadth,  feeling  the  electric 
shock — what  time  so  auspicious,  what  reason 
so  plausible,  for  suddenly  quitting  college  and 
leaving  home,  as  the  voyage  to  San  Francisco 
and  the  Sacramento.  I  have  decided  !  The 
gold  regions  of  California  shall  be  my  forced 
exile.' 

The  bewildered  mother  would  have  remon 
strated,  but  she  could  only  faintly  beg  of  him 
to  surrender  the  hazardous  design,  and  re 
peat,— 

4  No,  no,  Henry,  my  son,  how  can  I  ever 
think  of  your  mingling  with  the  needy  and 
desperate  adventurers  who  are  throwing  to 
those  shores  ?' 

*  Not  so,  not  so,,  dear  mother,'  said  the 
youth,  with  energy.  4  The  worthless  and  the 
poor  cannot  command  the  means  indispensa 
ble  to  the  undertaking.  It  is  not  of  this  class 
that  the  tide  of  emigration  draws  any  part  of 
its  current ;  it  is  from  the  more  respectable 
and  elevated  portion  alone,  that  the  bands  of 
the  Gold  Hunters  are  made  up.  Mother,  I 
have  resolved — in  six  days  a  vessel  leaves  this 
port— I  go  in  her.' 

In  vain  were  all  a  mother's  attempts  to  dis 
suade  him  from  his  pnrpose,  and  nothing  re 
mained  but  to  break  the  intelligence  to  her 
husband. 

Leaving  him,  with  a  recommendation  to 
seek  an  hour  or  two's  much-needed  repose 
after  all  the  fatigue  he  had  gone  through,  she 
then  sought  the  chamber  of  the  elder  Vernon 
to  acquaint  him  of  the  contemplated  proce 
dure. 

The  parting  advice  was  heeded  by  Henry 
Vernon,  whose  head  had  not  pressed  a  pillow 
in  forty-eight  hours.  Passing  into  the  private 
sitting-room,  he  cast  his  wearied  form  upon  a 


velvet  ottoman,  arid  tried  to  compose  himself 
to  sleep. 

On  his  way,  however,  he  had  stepped  for  a 
moment  into  the  balcony,  whence  he  had  a 
full  view  of  the  snow  strewn  Common  and 
whitened  streets,  and  as  he  passed  on  he  had 
muttered, — 

<  So  long  as  that  snow  remains  I  shall  be  in 
safety.' 

He  might  have  been  slumbering  for  some 
three  hours,  when  he  awoke.  His  mother 
stood  beside  him,  and  as  his  unclosing  eyes 
met  hers,  they  fell  on  a  packet  she  held  in  her 
hand. 

4  Your  father  knows  all,  Henry ;  I  have  told 
him  of  your  resolution  :  and  if  you  must  leave 
us  for  a  time,  he  cannot  but  approve  of  your 
plan. 

1  But  this  is  not  all,  Henry,  a  change  has 
come  upon  hin\;  he  appears  to  have  altered 
his  mind  regarding  yourself  and  the  secret  he 
has  heretofore  been  so  solicitous  to  conceal 
and  in  this  packet,  my  dear  boy,  you  will  find 
a  clue  to  the  whole  mystery.  But  one  thing 
mark,  my  child, — the  seals  of  this  parcel  ar-j 
not  to  be  broken  till  you  have  been  ten  days  at 
sea — on  no  account  are  its  secrets  to  be  in 
truded  upon^till  then.  I  must  return  to  your 
sick  father,  but  to-night  we  will  converse  far 
ther  on  this  matter.  Till  then,  adieu  !' 

Scarcely  had  she  left  the  room,  when  the 
stooping  form  of  a  white-haired  old  man,  with 
the  sharp  chin  of  age,  and  deep-sunk  eyes  thai 
twinkled  with  a  strange,  shrewd  expression, 
beneath  his  bent  brows,  entered  the  room.  1: 
was  the  uncle  to  Henry  Vernon,  the  gay 
generous  student.  Avarice  was  stamped  on 
every  pinched  feature,  as  he  muttered,  as  WG/ 
his  usual  custom  ;  while,  with  hobbling  step, 
he  continued  to  advance. 

Vernon  feigned  sleep  ;  but  through  his  half- 
opened  eyes  he  saw  and  marked  the  sudden 
start  of  surprise  with  which  the  old  man  notice*! 
him.  It  was  but  an  instant,  however,  and  theii 
the  deceived  miser,  evidently  under  the  im 
pression  that  his  nephew  lay  in  a  deep  sleep, 
was  heard  muttering  gleefully, — 

4  Not  dead  !  not  dead  !  but  bound  for  Cali 
fornia  !  Aha !  I  have  a  scheme,  a  cunning 
scheme  !  'tis  better  than  the  last ;  yes,  yes, 
and  less  dangerous.  He  !  he  !  he  GOES  TO 
California,  but  he  will  never  COME  BACK  ALIVE.' 

And  mumbling,  with  a  dry  chuckle,  the 
words,  the  miser  hobbled  again  from  the  room 
deeming  himself  unheard. 


KIT  CAKS6N: 


CHAPTER  III.         .<ifM 

T/ie  Burglary — jPAe  Unexpected  Surprises — '  Ho  ! 
for  Galifornia  .''— Preparations  for  Departure— 
A  Sisters  Scheme. 

•       vl    ,  ,.     i)j, 

BACK,  with  the  generous  reader,  we  rniist 
go,  without  farther  delaay,  to  a  scene  and  char 
acter  already  too  long  neglected,  in  a  moment 
of  thrilling  emergeny. 

1  A  housebreaker  !  a  housebreaker  !'  was 
the  astounded  exclamation  that  fell  from  the 
lips  of  Lincoln,  as  the  friendly  mirror  gave 
back,  in  tell-tale  reflection,  the  dark  form  of 
the  audacious  midnight  intruder.  But  caution 
suppressed  to  a  whisper,  the  words,  as  he 
heard  the  burglar's  first  exulting  exclama 
tion, — 

'  The  fools  !  they  have  left  the  safe-key  in 
the  lock  V 

The  merchant's  clerk  sprang  from  the  bed  ; 
he  gained  his  feet,  silently,  noiselessly.  How 
was  he  to  act  ?  It  was  a  startling  question — a 
thrilling  thought.  The  interposing  escritor 
was  still  between  them  ;  still  impeded  a  view 
of  the  kneeling  man — it  was  only  in  the 
massive  mirror,  the  farthest  from  the  scene, 
that  he  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  object, 
observe  its  movements.  Another  and  yet 
more  fixed  looked  he  bent  upon  that  strange, 
tnute  betrayer  of  an  intruder's  presence  ! 

On  his  knees,  before  the  open  safe,  the  bur 
glar  was  still  seen  ;  but  his  hand  had  now  re 
linquished  its  hold  of  the  key  it  had  grasped, 
and  was  transferred,  like  its  companion  to  the 
more  tempting  interior.  And  again  was  heard 
the  jingle  of  the  precious  metal  within  !  Steal 
thily,  with  hushed  breath,  barefooted  as  he 
was,  he  stole  with  cautious  steps  along,  and 
soon,  before  his  eyes,  the  whole  scene  stared 
him  in  the  face. 

On  the  floor,  beside  the  felonious  invader 
of  the  premises,  lay  a  pistol  and  a  bowie-knife, 
unheeded  by  their  owner,  whose  glistening 
glance  were  bent  upon  the  contents  of  the 
strong  box,  exposed  in  its  dazzling  richness  to 
his  enraptured  eyes. 

The  overjoyed  robber  was  already  trans 
ferring  from  its  resting  place,  that  portion  of 
the  treasure  which  came  nearest  to  his  daring 
hand.  No  time  was  to  be  lost  if  the  startled 
Lincoln  would  preserve  from  the  plunderer, 
his  employers'  wealth.  Himself  unarmed, 
what  course  was  left  him  to  pursue  ?  The 
thought  of  springing  boldly  upon  the  burglar, 


:LX«I  Id.fciiiio  3fcj  ,  y^iuicwiiik,  a  *  nt::  acJ 
seizing  his  weapons  and  taking  him  by  sur 
prise,  and  at  a  vantage,  occurred  to  him  ;  but 
one  glance  at  the  powerful  make  of  his  ex* 
pected  antagonist,  convinced  him,  that  those 
iron  sinews,  those  hardened  muscles  could 
crush  him  as  easily  as  if  he  were  a  child  ;  and 
for  his  employers'  sake,  more  than  his  ow'n 
safety,  he  took  Itimely  counsel  of  prudence, 
and  held  back — 'held  back,  but  only  till  his  ac 
tive  mind  could  suggest  some  other  means, 
some  more  certain  way. 

A  ready  wit  was  not  long  at  fault.  He  had 
bethought  himsef  of  a  plan  ;  though  there  was 
hazard  in  it,  he  did  not  falter,  but  resolved  tc 
peril  all  upon  the  chance. 

Silently  retracing  his  way  to  the  bedside, 
he  stripped  a  blanket  from  the  couch,  and  as 
quietly  returned,  undetected,  to  his  previous 
station.  Just  as  his  ,foot  once  more  moved 
forward,  in  the  act  of  taking  a  single  step  in 
advance,  he  perceived  that  his  shadow  fell 
across  the  floor,  reaching  almost  to  the  bur' 
glar's  side,  and  that  another  pace  would  fling 
its  shade  directly  before  the  face  of  the  kneel 
ing  man.  It  was  necessary  to  approach  with 
out  startling  the  other  ;  he  saw  but  one  appar 
ent  way  of  accomplishing  this,  and  that  Was  by 
exchanging,  for  a  creeping  posture,  his  erect 
advance.  As  quickly  as  conceived  the  attempt 
was  made. 

4  Gold  !  solid  gold  !'  he  heard  the  robber 
ejaculate  in  transports  of  covetous  delight,  as 
with  a  hand  that  shook  with  trembling  eager 
ness,  he  seized  a  bag  of  heavy  coin,  the  same 
that  had  tempted  the  merchant's  clerk  ;  '  a 
thousand  dollars  by  the  mark,'  he  exultingly 
added,  as  he  examined  it^  at  the  same  time 
pushing  contemptuously  aside  a  layer  of  silver 
coin  and  a  pile  of  bank  notes  which  he  had 
first  grasped  in  his  indiscriminate  avidity. 
1  Pish!  what  is  paltry  silver,  when  gold  also  is 
ready  to  your  hand  ?  And  these  bills!  no, 
no,  I'll  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  cursed 
paper — it  often  tells  tales.  The  gold  ! — I'll 
take  only  the  gold  !' 

Five  bags  more  of  the  same  precious  metal 
were  quickly  added  by  the  depredator  to  his 
previous  prize,  and  he  was  preparing  to  select 
still  a  sixth  and  a  larger  one,  which  had  ex 
cited  also  his  cupidity. 

But  noiselessly,  silently,  stealthily,  at  that 
same  moment,  the  unsuspected  watcher  was 
stealing  upon  his  prey.  And  see  !  he  has  al 
most  reached  the  other's  side — is  at  his  very 
back,  undiscovered,  unsuspected. 


KIT  CARSON. 


25 


Emboldened  by  impunity  he  rises,  cautious 
ly  rises  for  the  final  effort,  but  almost  at  the 
same  moment,  the  housebreaker  himself  sud 
denly  arose  to  his  feet,  causing  his  unseen 
companion  to  nearly  betray  himself  by  his 
start  of  surprise  :  idle,  however,  was  the  fear 
—the  unconscious  burglar  had  but  arisen  for 
the  purpose  of  gathering  up  his  golden  plun 
der,  and  as  he  stooped  again  to  secure  about 
his  person  a  portion  of  his  prize,  just  as  a 
chuckling  laugh  followed  the  triumphant  gra- 
tulation, — 

'  Good  I  lama  rich  man  for  life!  Gold, 
all  gold,  pure  as  that  of  California  !' 

There  was  the  sudden  sound  of  a  spring,  a 
bound,  the  rustling  of  something  as  it  whizzed 
through  the  air,  and  the  unsuspicious  robber 
found  himself  in  an  instant  entangled,  half- 
suffocated  and  dragged  to  the  floor,  The 
captured  burglar's  head  and  limbs  were  en 
veloped  in  the  folds  of  the  blanket,  which  Lin 
coln's  rapid  hand  had  throvvn  over  him,  he 
lost  his  footing  instantaneously  and  fell,  in 
capable  of  resistance  or  escape  !' 

Savagely,  still,  he  strove  to  struggle  in  his 
entanglement,  but  the  efforts  were  as  stifled 
as  his  smothered  curses — he  was  fairly  en 
trapped,  like  a  lion  in  the  toils,  a  wild  beast  in 
the  net !  His  rejoicing  captor  forcibly  drag 
ged  him  to  the  door  of  the  cellar-way,  and 
from  thence  precipitated  him  headlong  down 
the  dark  abyss,  which  portal  was  immediately 
closed  arid  locked  upon  the  now  completely 
ensnared  prisoner. 

Satisfied  of  the  security  of  his  captive,  and 
aware  that  he  could  now,  in  perfect  safety, 
-proceed  to  leave  the  late  invaded  premises  to 
summon  aid,  the  clerk  boldly  sallied  forth  to 
procure  the  needed  assistance.  He  returned 
in  a  very  brief  time,  with  the  night-police  in 
sufficient  force  to  apprehend  the  housebreaker, 
who  was  found  partially  insensible  from  his' 
fall,  at  the  foot  of  the  cellar  stairs,  and  not 
withstanding  the  most  desperate  attempts  on 
the  part  of  the  struggling  scoundrel  to  escape 
from  their  clutches,  he  was  finally  arrested 
and  borne  off. 

The  examination  of  the  burglar,  Lincoln's 
detention  as  a  witness  before  the  magistrate, 
and  the  criminal's  full  commitment  for  trial, 
were  the  events  of  the  subsequent  few  hours 
of  the  morrow. 

Lincoln,  on  leaving  the  court-room,  at  the 
conclusion,  had  just  parted  with  his  employer, 
who  was  loud  in  his  protestations  of  praise  and 


gratitude  to  his  faithful  clerk,  but  being  a  man 
of  penurious  disposition,  Lincoln  too  well  knew 
his  character  to  indulge  the  idle  hope  that  it 
was  destined  to  prove  of  any  lasting  advantage 
to  himself. 

He  saw  at  once  through  the  hollow  hypo 
crisy  of  the  man,  whom  in  his  heart  he  had  al 
ways  despised,  nor  was  he  sanguine  enough  to 
attach  much  importance  to  his  wordy  grati 
tude.  The  sequel  proved  him  to  be  quite 
right,  for  the  only  shape  that  it  manifested  it 
self  in,  was  the  generous  offer  of  which  his 
magnanimous  employer  was  graciously  pleased 
to  make,  of  a  day  or  two's  furlough  from  the 
cares  and  confinement  of  active  busiuess. 

This  is  no  fancy  sketch,  reader  !  The  re 
spectable  head  of  the  wealthy  firm  in  question 
will  recognise  his  own  portrait.  These  are 
true  pictures.  This^  astounding  liberality  was 
of  course  duly  appreciated  by  its  fortunate  re 
cipient.  The  afternoon  and  evening  were 
spent  in  a  visit  to  his  younger  sister,  to  whose 
presence  we  will  not  at  present  follow  him  ; 
but  the  next  morning  found  him,  from  the 
mere  impulse  of  long  habit,  retracing  his  way 
to  the  store,  which  for  so  many  weary  months 
had  been  his  daily  resort. 

As  he  repassed  the  old  South  in  his  return, 
his  eye  was  accidentally  caught  byva  glaring 
handbill,  on  which,  in  mammoth  letters,  was 
printed,  — 

4  BEST  CHANCE  FOR  THE  GOLD 
REGIONS  ? 

The  Splendid  Ship  S  --  , 
To  Sail  in  Three 


He  groaned  in  bitterness  of  spirit  and  passed 
on.  With  a  heart  full  of  despair,  he  once 
more  darkened  the  door  of  the  proud  commer 
cial  house,  which  two  nights  before  he  had 
saved  from  ruin. 

Hardly  had  he  appeared,  when  he  was  sur 
rounded  with  earnest  and  sincere  congratula 
tions  from  his  friendly  fellow-clerks,  one  of 
whom  hastened  to  slip  into  his  hand  a  letter 
directed  to  him.  In  no  little  surprise  he  re 
ceived  the  epistle.  The  superscription  was  in 
no  unknown  hand  ;  he  recognised  instantly  the 
well  known  characters  of  the  silent  partner  of 
the  firm. 

Scarce  knowing  what  to  think  or  to  expect, 
he  broke  the  seal  and  read,  — 

4  MR.  LINCOLN,  — 

DEAR  SIR  —  I  have  learned, 


26 


KIT  CARSON. 


with  pleasure,  your  daring  and  gallant  defence 
of  our  establishment  from  the  criminal  designs 

of  a  burglar,  on  the  night  of  the inst., 

and  with  equal  surprise  that  my  partner  has 
omitted  to  testify  to  you,  in  some  substantial 
manner,  our  sense  of  indebtedness  for  the  in 
estimable  service  you  have  rendered  us. 

*  Allow,  me,  therefore,  at  once  to  remedy 
the  inadvertence,  and  manifest  to  yourself  my 
appreciation  of  your  manly  conduct,  as  well 
of  the  signal  obligation  under  which  you  have 
placed  us,  I  rejoice  to  say,  as  it  now  affords 
me  an  opportunity  of  assuring  you  of  my 
esteem  and  gratitude. 

4  Having  understood  that  you  were  ambi 
tious  to  seek  the  advancement  of  your  for 
tunes  in  the  golden  El  Dorado  that  so  many 
are  now  viewing  with  beating  hearts,  but  un 
fortunately  debarred  the  brilliant  chance  by 
lack  of  the  necessary  means,  I  beg  to  enclose 
this  trifle,  in  the  friendly  hope  that  it  may  for 
ward  your  views,  though  I  shall  never  cease 
to  regret  that  it  may  lose  us  the  valuable  ser 
vices  of  so  faithful  a  clerk,  and  honorable  a 
man,  as  you  have  recently  proved  yourself. 
4  Your  true  friend,  4  E.  L.  J.' 

A  check  for  a  $1,000  fell  from  the  letter! 

From  the  abyss  of  despondency  to  the  pin 
nacle  of  hope,  from  despair's  dark  depths  to 
utter  happiness,  how  swift  tho,  leap,  how  sud 
den  the  transition  !  The  emotions  of  Eugene 
Lincoln  are  not  difficult  to  conceive,  though 
to  him  the  truth  was  hard  to  realize.  Joy, 
doubt,  astonishment,  by  turns,  predominated. 

Here,  then,  were  the  means  of  satisfying 
the  wish  born  of  a  generous  ambition,  but 
long  since  deserted  even  by  hope,  yet  how 
unexpected,  how  unlooked  for  a  blessing. — 
How  he  thanked  God  that  he  had  nobly  resis 
ted  the  fearful  temptation  that  had  once  assail 
ed  him  ;  how  he  blessed  a  bounteous  Heaven 
for  the  reward  that  now  crowned  his  defiance 
of  the  tempter. 

At  length  the  joyour  Lincoln  controlled  his 
transports  sufficiently  to  call  a  carriage,  and 
assuming  his  seat  within,  the  hackney  coach 
drove  to  the  destination  to  which  the  driver 
had  been  directed.  The  vehicle,  in  the  course 
of  a  half-hour,  stopped  before  a  neat  little  cot 
tage,  and  the  passenger  eagerly  alighted  on 
the  spot,  where  a  near  prospect  of  the  stately 
edifices  of  the  neighboring  universities  pro 
claimed  its  vicinity  to  classic  Cambridge, — 
also  to  the  eventful  scene  of  the  midnight  riot 
and  homicide. 


Boldly,  but  quietly,  entering  the  cottage,  he 
passed  from  room  to  room,  apparently  in  quest 
of  some  one.  The  sound  of  voices,  in  low 
converse,  reached  his  ear  as  he  paused  before 
another  apartment.  The  door  was  ajar,  and 
pushing  it  open  he  entered. 

The  noise  of  his  footsteps  being  insufficient 
to  attract  attention  from  those  within  he  hem 
med  once  or  twice  as  he  crossed  the  threshold 
to  arouse  them  from  their  abstraction  and  give 
warning  of  his  presence,  but  before  he  was 
discovered  by  either  of  the  two  persons  whom 
the  room  contained,  he  unavoidably  overheard 
a  soft  voice  murmur, — 

4  Henry,  dear  Henry,  is  this  true  ?  and  do 
you  indeed,  intend  to  leave  us  for  a  long  voy 
age  and  a  far  foreign  shore  ?' — Oh,  no,  this 
cannot  be.' 

While  the  rich,  manly  tones  of  a  frank,  full 
voice,  replied, — 

1  True,  Ellen,  true,  I  take  my  departure  in 
a  few  days  more  /or  the  coast  of  California  ; 
I  have  come  to  prepare  you,  dearest,  to  bid 
you  a  long  farewell.' 

'  California  !'  echoed  his  companion's  girlish 
tones  ;  then  with  a  sweet,  a  melodious  earnest 
ness  they  eagerly  asked,  4  yet  why,  O  why  ! 
Surely  'tis  not  wealth  that  you  would  seek  in 
that  distant  land  ?  then  why  leave  your  home 
and — and ' 

'  AND  you  !'  you  would  say,  dearest.  True, 
still  true,  yet  have  I  not  already  explained  to 
you  that  imperative  reasons  there  are  for  my 
strange  exile,  as  you  justly  term  it.  Nay  ! — 
my  interest,  my  safety  demand  it — demand 
that  I  now  take  this  singular,  this  unaccounta 
ble  step  for  the  heir  to  an  opulent  family.  But 
the  actuating  motive,  though  secret,  is  all  pow 
erful  ;  to  remain,  is  fraught  with  hazards  you 
would  never  suspect ;  in  flight  lies  alone  my 
safety  from  that  which  threatens  me.' 

4  Then,  in  Heaven's  name,  fly,  Henry,  fly  ! 
I  would  not  detain  you  for  worlds !'  iterated  a 
voice  tremulous  with  alarm.  Dear,  dear  Har 
ry  !  do  not  one  hour  more  delay  thus  to  secure 
your  safety.' 

4  Nay,  nay,  dear  girl,  the  danger  though 
imminent,  is  not  immediate,  and,  perchance, 
may  be  only  imaginary.  Suffice  it,  that  it  is 
the  consequence  of  no  misconduct  of  my 
own.' 

Thank  Heaven  for  that,  at  least  1 — nay,  I 
knew  it  before !'  returned  the  same  soft,  con 
fiding  accents. 

Lincoln,  as  he  now  advanced  to  their  very 


KIT    CARSON. 


27 


side,  could  see  that  a  sweet  face  was  pillowed 
trustingly  upon  the  manly  shoulder  of  a  noble 
youth. 

Yet  as  undiscovered,  as  when,  with  sterner 
intent,  he  stooped,  in  manly  daring  over  the 
youthful  pair.  The  handsome  face  and  gal 
lant  bearing  of  his  friend  Vernon,  he  had  not 
needed  the  first  glance  nor  the  first  word  to 
recognise ;  the  place,  the  posture,  the  pre 
sence  in  which  he  sat,  had  been  enough  for 
his  unperceived  observer,  as  was  the  gentle, 
trusting  attitude  in  which  that  bewitching 
countenance  reposed  upon  his  breast,  with  his 
arm  encircling,  tenderly,  a  delicate  and  grace 
ful  form,  just  faintly  trembling  from  girlhood 
into  blushing  womanhood,  like  a  rose-bud  ex 
panding  into  the  full-blown  queen  of  flowers  ; 
while  those  soft  eyes  of  liquid  blue,  beaming 
with  love  and  confidence,  were  fixed  upon  his 
own  jetty  orbs,  whose  every  glance  was  teem 
ing  with  admiration,  as  it  in  turn  wandered 
over  the  beautiful  Grecian  contour,  the  small 
smile-lit  lip,  the  dazzlingly  fair  complexion, 
shadowed  by  auburn  tresses,  that,  in  their  very 
hue,  were  alike  expressive  of  girlish  sweetness 
and  surpassing  gentleness. 

And  even  as  the  keenly-observant  brother 
and  friend  drew  near,  he  saw  the  lips  of  the 
lovers  meet  in  a  warm  and  glowing  kiss,  that 
spoke  worlds  to  their  hearts,  and  volumes  to 
his  ear! 

'  Love  ! — yes,  love  beyond  redemption  !' 
half-aloud  soliloquised  the  amused  Lincoln, 
bending  down,  all  unperceived,  until  his  very 
breath  was  warm  upon  her  cheek,  he  planted 
another  on  the  lips  yet  fresh  with  a  lover's 
kiss. 

The  girl  started  from  her  confiding  attitude, 
crimson  with  modesty's  favorite  hue ;  and, 
quick  as  the  offending  act  itself,  Vernon  sprang 
to  his  feet,  to  punish  the  author  of  the  supposed 
audacity. 

A  merry  laugh  met  him  in  turn. 

4  Ha  !  ha  !  my  gallant  Harry,  you're  some 
what  selfish,  I  see.  What !  so  chary  of  a 
sweetheart's  kisses  ?  Nay,  nay,  my  jealous 
friend,  'tis  but  a  fraternal  salute  another  has 
ventured  upon !  Hey,  sweet  Nell !  how  is  it, 
girt?' 

'  The  young  lovers  stood  abashed  before 
him,  looking  the  very  pictures  of  confusion. 
Harry,  who  felt  like  a  thief  caught  in  the  act, 
for  the  moment  wished  his  friend  in  paradise, 
rather  than  there. 

The  considerate  Lincoln,  after   briefly  en 


joying  their  embarrassment,  generously  threw 
a  cover  over  it,  by  saying,  with  surprised  em 
phasis, — 

*  Harry !  have  I  heard  aright  ?    Is  it  indeed 
your  intention  to  sail  for  the  Gold  Regions  ?' 

'  It  is !'  was  the  brief  response. 

'Ha  !  this  is  strange  !  whence  comes  this 
sudden ' 

The  hand  of  the  student  was  placed  upon 
his  arm.  The  grasp  tightened  on  the  limb, 
as  Vernon,  in  a  low,  firm  tone,  said, — 

4  Even  to  you,  my  best  friend,  I  must  refuse 
an  answer.  Even  to  the  girl  whom  I  so  ten 
derly  love,  even  to  the  mother  who  bore  me,  I 
have  resolutely  declined  the  explanation  that 
you  now  seek.  One  vague,  faint  hint  I  may 
give  you  of  the  truth — the  hidden  cause  is 
none  other  than  the  offspring  of  that  eventful 
night,  when  you  saved  me  from  a  rioter's  blind 
fury  on  the  grounds  ofthe  University.' 

Despite  the  rebellious  cravings  of  curiosity 
and  astonishment,  there  was  a  meaning  firm 
ness,  a  deliberate  collected  ness  in  the  unlook 
ed-for  words  of  his  friend,  that  made  Lincoln 
instinctively  forbear  from  the  importunity 
which  sprang  from  surprise. 

He  remained  himself  in  deep  and  abstract 
ed  thought  for  a  few  moments  only,  attentive 
ly  regarded,  meanwhile,  by  the  lovers  ;  at  their 
termination  he  looked  up,  in  a  deliberate  tone 
say  ing- -though  his  words  were  very  far  from 
being  received  in  the  same  calm  spirit, — 

*  Vernon — Ellen — Ivalso,  am  on  the  eve  of 
embarking  for  the  golden  haven  of  San  Fran 
cisco.5 

''Lincoln!' 

'  Brother!' 

And  a  wild  start  and  a  faint  cry  accompa 
nied  the  last  exclamation. 

1  Yes,  it  is  already  determined  upon.  I 
shall  seek,  on  the  shores  of  the  far  Pacific, 
sister,  to  better  our  ruined  fortunes.  I  shall 
seek ' 

'No,  no;  you  do  not  mean  it  brother! — 
you  will  not  desert  your  poor  Ellen,  Eugene,1 
cried  the  young  girl,  with  a  frightened  look, 
as  she  darted  to  bis  side.' 

'  Yes,  Ellen,  yes,'  answered  the  brother, 
much  moved. 

'  Ah !  brother,  brother !  but  no,'  she  ner 
vously  added,  with  a  glad  air,  k  the  means — 
you  have  not  means  !  It  costs  much  to  go, 
all  say  so.' 

4  The  means  I  have,  Ellen,'  he  answered, 
'  thanks  to  a  Providence  as  fortunate  as  it  is 


KIT  CARSON. 


Pecuniary  disability  is  no  longer  a 
mournfully  uttered 
her  lip  in 


strange, 
barrier.' 

4  Eugene  !     Eugene  !' 
the  sorrowing  girl. 

He  took  her  hand  and  pressed 
deep  emotion. 

4  Nay,  sister,  fear  not,  fear  not  that  you  will 
suffer  in  my  absence.  Five  hundred  of  the 

thousand '  ™  . '" 

'•'  irThe  thousand,  brother?' 

*  Ay,  sister,  half  of  ihe  thousand  of  which  I 
am  the  fortunate  possessor,  I  shall  place  at  the 
disposal  of  the  good  lady  to  whose  care  I  have 
^o  long  and  so  safely  confided  you,  for  your 
exclusive  benefit  during  my  proposed  absence. 
The  provision  will  be  ample ;  the  residue  I 
shall  appropriate  to  the  payment  of  my  pass 
age  and  purchase  of  an  outfit.' 

'  O,  Eugene,  Eugene,  you  have  often 
spoken  to  me  of  this  California.  Yet,  alas  ! 
alas  !  I  never  once  dreamed  that  you  were 
serious.' 

4 1  knew  not  that  it  would  ever  be  within  my 
power.  It  is,  however !  and  shall  1  now 
neglect  the  prize,  once  in  view  of  the  goal  ? 
But  why  look  with  such  grief  upon  the  mere 
idea  ?  Have  1  not  told  you  that  you  would  be 
amply  cared  for  by  a  brother's  fond  fore 
thought  ?  have  I  not  told  you  that  you  should 
be  no  sufferer  by  my  absence  ?' 

4  No  sufferer  !  In  body,  perhaps  not ;  but 
in  mind,  Eugene !  O  God  !  the  torture  that  I 
should  endure — the  torture  of  suspense — and 
ever  anxious  for  you,  my  faithful  brother  and 
— and  for ' 

The  word,  the  name,  was  unspoken,  but  the 
look,  the  look  of  devoted  love,  supplied  to  Ver- 
non's  beating  heart  more  of  meaning  than  the 
utterance. 

4  Nay,  dearest  sister,  the  hazard,  the  dan 
ger,  is  only  imaginary.  The  chief  obstacle  is 
the  distance.' 

4  The  distance  !  the  distance  !  I  feel  it  will 
forever  part  us.  But  stay  \ — and  joy's  sudden 
thought  sparkled  in  her  blue  eyes — '  blessed 
be  the  thought ! — you  both  are  going,  and  can 
I  not  accompany  you  ?' 

4  You  accompany  us  !'  was  the  hasty  ejacu 
lation  of  the  shocked  brother  ;  4  you  share  the 
hardships,  the  dangers  of  this  adventurous  un 
dertaking  ?  Preposterous !' 

4 1  thought,'  remonstrated  the  weeping  girl, 
4 1  thought  you  said  but  now  there  were  no 
perils,  no  privations!  Ah,  rny  brother,  my 
noble  brother,  you  would  have  deceived  me 


there — you  have  betrayed  your  own  generous 
self.  There  are  trials,  there  are  hazards  to 
be  endured — let  me  then  share  them  with  you 
— with  Henry  ?' 

4  Never  !'  exclaimed  Lincoln,  with  sudden 
sternness  ;  '  never,  so  help  me  Heaven,  shall 
the  sister  whom  I  have  guarded  so  long,  be 
thus,  with  my  consent,  exposed.  Perish,  for 
ever,  the  very  idea  in  your  mind.  I  go,  but! 
go  alSne !' 

4  Not  alone,  Lincoln,  not  alone,'  interposed 
the  hardly  less  agitated  Vernon.  4  If  you  have 
the  same  destination,  we  at  least  will  be  com 
panions.' 

4  We  will,  we  will,  my  friend — I  meant, 
without  our  poor  Ellen.  What !  transplant 
such  a  gentle  flower  to  the  rough  soil  of  a 
wilderness — murder  our  tender  rose-bud  thus  ? 
Ellen,  you  plead  in  vain.' 

Sadly  the  girl  shrunk  back,  the  faint  hope 
dying  out ;  for  she  knew  her  brother's  change 
less  resolution  where  her  own  precious  wel 
fare  was  concerned.  And  mournfully  upon 
her  gentle  ear  struck  the  brief  meaning  ques 
tion, — 

4  Lincoln,  when  do  you  sail  ?' 

4  In  three  days.  A  fine  ship  clears  at  that 
time.' 

4  What  is  the  price  of  passage  ?' 

4  Three  hundred  dollars  down.' 

4  And  the  outfit — what  will  be  the  cost  of 
that  ?' 

4  'Twill  be — let  me  think — yes,  all  the  way 
from  twenty-five  to  a  hundred  dollars,  as  you 
please.' 

4  Enough  !'  said  Vernon,  firmly — 4  engage 
a  passage  for  me,  if  I  may  trouble  you,  my 
friend  ?  I  go  in  her  !' 

<•  Gladly,  O,  how  gladly.  And  now  I  must 
seek  an  interview  with  the  good  lady  of  the 
house,  our  Ellen's  faithful  guardian,  and  ar 
range  this  matter  with  her.  We  have  three 
days  of  preparation,  Vernon.' 

4  Stay  !  one  moment  stay,'  cried  the  weep 
ing  sister,  eagerly  springing  tc  her  lover's 
side.  '  Here,  Henry,  here  plead  for  me — O 
beseech  your  friend's  permission  for  me,  his 
sister,  to  accompany  him,  to  share  his  wan 
derings  !' 

4  He  pleads  in-  vain  ;  he  pleads  to  empty 
air,'  was  the  inexorable  response.  4  It  can 
not  be.' 

She  would  have  clung  to  him,  and  on  her 
bended  knees  implored  for  the  consent  his 
thoughtful  care  would  not  concede  ;  but  he 


KIT  CARSON. 


29 


had  already  torn  himself  from  the  spot  and 
left  the  room. 

Trembling  in  every  fibre  and  very  faint, 
she  would  have  sunk  helpless  to  the  floor,  had 
not  her  student-lover  sustained,  with  his  fond 
arm,  her  drooping  form,  and  whispered  words 
of  hope  into  her  ear,  and  pressed  love's  thrill 
ing  kisses  upon  the  lips  that  faintly  breathed 
her  brother's  name,  linked  with  his  own. 

But  at  length  the  violence  of  her  agitation 
subsided,  and  her  lover  left  her  to  herself  with 
a  parting  embrace,  and  a  fond  promise  to  meet 
her  often  before  the  expiration  of  the  allotted 
time. 

'Three  days  ere  the  vessel  sails!  three 
days  of  grace  !'  repeated  in  earnest  thought- 
fulness,  the  solitary  girl,  as  she  remained  long 
and  deeply  reflecting. 

'  Three  whole  days  ere  the  hateful  ship 
will  bear  all  I  love  on  earth  away.  In  three 
days,  woman's  wit  can  accomplish  much ! 
Ellen  Lincoln  is  no  longer  the  weak  girl 
her  brother  thinks  her  ;  the  hour  of  trial  has 
come — the  hour  that  is  to  prove  if  she  be 
a  true  woman  or  t  no.  Enough !  Heaven 
nerve  me ;  I  have  resolved,  and,  as  Heaven 
helps  me,  I  will  succeed  in  the  scheme ! 
Yes;  in  THREE  DAYS  woman's  wit  may  ac 
complish  much  !' 

Another  chapter  may  unfold  the  young 
sister's  daring  scheme. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

The  Embarkation  and  its  Incidents. — An  unfor- 
seen  Occurrence. — The  Plot  and  the  Jlrrest  of 
the  Gold  Mventurer. 

'  'Twixt  cup  and  lip 
There  may  be  many  a  slip.' 

OLD  PROVERB. 

EACH,  one  by  one,  of  the  eventfnl  three 
days  went  by,  and  each  was  successively  em 
ployed  in  busily  perfecting  preliminaries. 
Lincoln,  the  elder  and  more  experienced  of 
our  two  adventurers,  had  taken  upon  himself 
the  responsibility  of  the  atrangements,  and 
Vernon  with  entire  confidence  relied  upon  his 
friend's  superior  judgment  in  such  matters. 

Their  passage  had  been  engaged,  their 
berths  secured,  and  each  taking  a  final  fare 
well  of  the  dear  ones  to  be  left  behind,  all 
was  therefore  now  in  readiness  and  both  wiih 
eager  anticipation  awaited  the  moment  that 
was  to  witness  their  departure. 


But,  ere  that  departure  took  place,  a  some 
what  peculiar  occurrence  was  destined  to  in 
tervene. 

Upon  the  morning  on  which  our  ex-clerk, 
had  applied  for  passage  for  himself  and  friend 
and  while  occupied  in  the  office  of  the  com 
pany  among  which  they  were  to  enroll  them 
selves,  in  the  final  business  of  paying  in  the 
stipulated  sums — Vernon's  portion  of  which 
had  been  received  in  the  form  of  a  handsome 
allowance  from  his  affluent  father,  with  in 
structions  to  draw  upon  his  banker,  and  by 
him  transferred  to  his  friend,  to  be  rightly  ex 
pended  for  this  purpose — Lincoln,  to  whom 
the  whole  matter  had  accordingly  been  left, 
was  in  the  act  of  entering  their  names  upon 
the  register,  when  his  attention  was  casually 
attracted  to  one,  in  particular,  amid  the  anx 
ious  crowd  by  which  the  office  was  densely 
packed. 

This  personage  had  excited  his  notice  by 
the  curiosity  he  evinced  in  endeavoring  to  as 
certain  the  address  of  every  fresh  member 
added  to  the  list  of  passengers,  which  he  was 
constantly  examining. 

Lincoln  was  not  at  all  surprised  to  find  him 
self,  in  turn,  the  subject  of  inspection,  when 
he  also  came  to  register  the  double  address 
of  himself  and  his  absent  friend — for  he  was 
alone. 

A  shadow  falling  upon  the  open  page, 
caused  him  to  lock  up  abruptly  ;  but  only  to 
perceive  the  head  of  the  same  inquisitive  indi 
vidual  peering  over  his  shoulder,  rather  mor« 
pryingly  than  good  manners  strictly  \vr, ranted, 

Somewhat  annoyed  at  this  ill-bred  obtrusive- 
ness,  he  closed  the  book  sharply,  though  not 
soon  enough  to  prevent  what  he  had  written 
from  being  read,  and  looked  the  other  full  i« 
the  eye. 

The  latter  did  not,  as  was  expected,  draw 
back  abashed,  but,  without  appear  jg  to  com 
prehend  the  breach  of  good  breeding  he  had 
committed,  instead  immediately  asked,  in  the 
cracked  and  muttering  voice  of  age — for  he 
was  an  old  man, — 

'  You  have  just  signed  the  name  of  Henry 
Vernon  ;  is  it  your  own  ?' 

1  It  is  not ;  'tis  that  of  an  absent  friend, 're 
plied  Lincoln,  frankly,  thrown  off  his  guard 
by  the  coolness  of  the  query. 

'  Humph  1  what  right  have  you  to  sign  it, 
then?'  was  the  bluff  rejoinder.' 

*  The  best  of  rights,  'sir,'  answered  Lincoln, 
nettled  by  the  blunt  tone  of  the  other  ;  '  the 


KIT  CARSON. 


right  of  a  sworn  companion  to  act  in  some 
cases  for  a  friend.' 

'  Humph  !'  once  more  ejaculated  the  gruff 
old  man ;  sworn  friend  and  companion — 
humph  !' 

4  The  insolent  old  graybeard !'  muttered 
Lincoln,  as  his  unceremonious  acquaintance 
hobbled  off  again,  and  he  lost  sight  of  him, 
thinking  no  more  of  the  matter. 

Perhaps,  could  he  have  looked  forward  not 
many  hours  into  futurity,  he  would  not  have 
passed  the  matter  so  lightly.  , 

That  old  man  was  John  Vernon,  the  miser  ! 
Eugene  Lincoln  knew  him  not — yet  not  with 
out  a  purpose  was  the  miser  there. 

That  dayfhad  passed,  another  succeeded  it, 
and  the  third,  the  eventful  third  day,  following 
rapidly  upon  the  heels  of  its  predecessors, 
dawned  bright  and  beautiiful. 

Their  luggage  had  been  conveyed  on  board 
the  evening  previous;  and  at  an  early  hour 
the  two  companions  in  fortune  repaired  to  the 
wharf,  already  thronged  by  the  crowd  of  peo- 
pie  whom  the  departure  of  a  vessel  on  such 
an  expedition,  had  invariably  called  forth. 

The  ship  was  to  '  clear  '  and  sail  upon  one 
and  the  same  day  ;  and  as  they  proceeded  at 
length  on  board,  both  impatiently  awaited  the 
appointed  hour,  which  was  to  embark  them 
upon  their  novel  and  adventurous  enterprise. 

Hundreds  were  assembled  upon  the  wharf 
to  witness  the  approaching  event,  and  count 
less  as  were  the  spectators  on  shore,  as  count 
less  seemed  the  decks  of  the  outward-bound 
vessel. 

And  from  among  the  thousand  lookers-on, 
how  many  longing  eyes  were  fixed  with  secret 
envy  upon  that  crowded  deck  !  Let  more  than 
one  reader  of  these  pages  answer  for  himself. 

Side  by  side,  in  a  conspicuous  position  by 
the  vessel's  taffrail,  the  twain  in  whom  we  are 
most  interested  stood.  Their  eyes  turned  to 
ward  the  thronging  shores  and  their  lips  occa 
sionally  moving,  and  then  only  when  important 
considerations  appeared  to  demand,  so  engros 
sing  and  novel  was  the  scene  before  them. 

4  Ten  minutes,  only,  to  the  moment,'  in  a 
breathless  whisper  announced  Vernon  to  his 
comrade,  as  he  consulted  an  elegant  gold  re 
peater.  4  The  captain  assures  us,  you  say, 
that  he  shall  sail  at  the  hour  advertised.' 

4  Yes,  there  is  to  be  no  delay  beyond  it,  in 
any  case  whatever.  But  are  you  quite  sure, 
Vernon,'  added  Lincoln,  '  that  nothing  has 
been  forgotten  ?' 


4  Quite  certain  ;  I  have  taken  care  not  to 
omit  anything ;  all  is  in  perfect  train.  I  shall 
not  want  for  money  ;  I  go,  provided  with  an 
abundant  supply  for  all  contingencies,  and  a 
CARTE  BLANCHE  as  regards  my  good  father's 
banker,'  replied  Henry,  adding  laughingly, 
4  not  that  I  mean  to  avail  myself  of  the  per 
mission,  by  any  means,  as  I  go  out,  resolved 
not  to  be  idle,  and  unwilling  that  my  exile 
should  be  altogether  unprofitable.  And  you, 
my  friend ' 

He  hesitatingly  stopped  and  looked  inquir 
ingly. 

4 1  understand  you,'  answered  his  compa 
nion,  quickly.  4  Have  no  concern  on  that 
score  ;  I  have  not,  I  trust,  misappropriated 
the  blessed  boon  Providence  so  unexpectedly 
bestowed  on  me.  To  my  sister's  account,  in 
her  behalf,  remain  behind  five  hundred  of  the 
precious  thousand,  my  possession  of  which 
has  already  been  explained  to  you ;  with 
Ellen  herself  I  have  left  three  hundred  of  that 
amount ;  the  remaining  two  have  been  placed 
at  the  disposal  of  the  good  dame  who  has  been 
as  a  second  mother  to  the  friendless  orphan. 
Poor  girl  !  how  apprehensive  she  was  that  her 
brother  was  robbing  himself  for  her  comfort, 
though  again  and  again  assured  that  the  pro 
vision  for  myself  was  ample,  and  how  she 
pleaded  and  prayed  to  the  last  to  be  allowed 
to  accompany  us.' 

4  Dear  girl,  she  is  indeed  a  noble  creature, 
though  a  gentle  one — with,  as  I  sometimes 
think,  more  of  spirit  and  character  about  her, 
than  even  a  brother's  intimacy  has  been  yet 
enabled  to  elicit,  as  only  circumstances  are 
like  to  do.  Would  we  could  have  had  her 
dear  companionship,  yet  to  have  granted  her 
prayer  would  have  been  madness  in  us.  At 
least,  however,  you  leave  her  in  safe  hands, 
Eugene  ?' 

'  She1  could  not  be  in  safer,  Harry  ;  she  is 
as  well  protected  as  if  I  still  were  with  her. — 
Banish  every  doubt  of  this ;  I  should  not  have 
left  her  otherwise.  Yet  'twas  a  painful  task 
to  tear  myself ' 

4  From  that  sweet  girl ! — I  doubt  it  not,  in 
terposed  his  friend  ;  4  and  ah,  if  possible,  how 
doubly  painful  to  me  the  parting.  With  you, 
she  was  the  only  tie  ;  but  think  how  sad  must 
have  been  the  separation  with  ray  own  aged 
parents.  'Tis  well  that  neither  could  summon 
nerve  to  accompany  rne  hither;  it  would  have 
but  prolonged  useless  regrets.  And  yet — 
but  ha  !  there  goes  the  signal!' 


KIT  CARSON. 


4  The  signal !  the  signal  !  Bravo  !'  shouted 
fifty  eager  voices  around,  as  at  that  moment 
three  small  flags  went  quivering  up  to  the 
gaff. 

'See!'  cried  the  enthusiastic  Lincoln,  'see 
there  goes  a  fourth  one  at  half-mast.  When 
thatllast  ensign  soars  to  the  peak,  then  we  are 
at  sea — at  sea,  with  a  gallant  ship,  a  stout 
crew,  and  as  fine  a  captain  as  ever  sailed  salt 
water  ;  and  I  may  safely  say,  as  desirable  a 
set  of  passengers.' 

And  he  pointed  from  the  portly,  fine-look 
ing  figure  of  the  skipper  on  the  quarter  deck 
— one  on  the  noblest-hearted  veterans  of  his 
profession,  the  most  generous  of  sailors  to  the 
motley  assemblage  of  fellow-passengers; 
motley  indeed,  for  it  comprised  almost  every 
stage  of  life,  from  the  careworn  man  of  mid 
dle  age  to  the  fresh  and  vigorous  young  man 
of  twenty  ;  from  the  gray-haired  veteran  even 
downward  to  the  boy  of  sixteen — for  among 
that  mixed  company,  even  such  tender  years 
were  found. 

It  was  a  single  instance,  only,  however,  in 
the  person  of  a  young  stripling,  and  this  fact, 
united  with  the  boy's  handsome  face  and 
graceful  carriage,  so  natural  to  youth,  made 
him  an  object  of  interest  to  our  two  friends  ; 
the  more  as  they  noticed  he  seemed  very  deli 
cate  in  appearance,  and  more  than  once  did 
they  wonder  what  wild  freak  could  have 
brought  thither  one  so  little  calculated  to  battle 
with  the  hardships  which  so  many  stout  men 
and  rugged  constitutions  were  going  to  en 
dure. 

The  lad  himself,  by  the  ready  instinct  of 
symyathy,  seemed  to  perceive  that  they,  at 
least,  felt  interested  for  his  apparently  solitary 
and  friendless  situation,  for  he  kept  near  to 
them  from  the  first. 

And  the  frank  hearted  Vernon  was  just 
thinking  of  opening  a  conversation  with  the 
stripling,  when  in  the  very  act  of  accosting 
him,  there  was  a  general  cry  of  '  the  signal, 
the  signal  for  sailing !'  and  at  the  same  mo 
ment  the  ensign  at  half-mast  was  seen  trem 
bling  upward  toward  the  gaff,  mingling  with 
the  trio  that  preceeded  it,,  until  from  the  peak, 
four  floating  streamers  were  waving  out  a  last 
farewell  to  Old  Boston,  its  harbor  and  its 
town. 

The  moment  of  breathless,  thrilling  excite 
ment  had  come — all  was  now  the  confusion 
and  precipitation  of  getting  under  weigh. — 
The  bustle  of  hurried  preparation,  the  seamen 


hastening  to  and  fro,  the  quick,  stern  orders  of 
the  officers,  the  cheerful  'heave-o-heave  !'  the 
loud,  impatient  '  all  aboard  !  all  aboard  and 
sonorous  *.  coil  away,'  '  ease  off  cable  !'  the 
cheers  of  the  spectators,  and  their  excitement 
now  at  its  height ;  all  made  up  a  stirring 
scene,  as  slowly  the  laborious  work  of  getting 
a  first-class  ship  under  weigh,  went  on,  surely 
and  steadily. 

4  We  are  off—  off  at  last !  hurrah  !'  echoed 
almost  every  voice  on  board  the  monster- 
craft,  a  little  prematurely,  however,  in  th« 
universal  ecstacy  of  anticipation.  4  Ho  !  foj 
California  !' 

The  crowd  on  the  shore  took  up  the  shout 
the  very  waves  echoed  it  back. 

But,  just  as  the  cable  was  about  to  be  slip 
ped  finally,  the  plank  about  to  be  hauled  in 
the  warning  order,  4  all  aboard  !'  for  the  last 
time  repeated,  a  loud,  deep  voice,  in  the  very 
midst  of  the  huzzaing  mob  was  audible,  when 
the  shout  ceased,  exclaiming, — 

'  Hold,  captain  !      In  the  name  of  the  law.' 

And  struggling  through  that  thick-packed 
throng,  to  the  front  itself  forcing  his  way, 
agitating  that  sea  of  human  beings,  as  if  it  had 
been  indeed  the  troubled  deep  laboring  with 
some  restless  leviathan,  parting  right  and  left 
the  jostled  crowd,  appeared  a  captain  of  po 
lice,  with  a  POSSE  of  three  men  at  his  back  ! 

'  In  the  name  of  the  law  !'  loudly  repeated 
the  officer,  as  he  leaped,  just  in  time,  along 
the  plank,  his  three  followers  at  his  heels,  and 
bounded,  to  the  deck  elbowing  his  uncere 
monious  path  through  the  fresh  crowd  he  en 
countered  in  the  ship. 

'  An  arrest !  an  arrest  by  the  police  !'  a 
hundred  breathless  voices  iterated  ;  while  at 
this  instant  the  portly  skipper  advanced  hastily 
to  meet  them,  demanding  quickly  of  the  fore 
most  intruder, — 

4  Ha  !  policeman,  what  is  all  this?  what  is 
all  this  ?  An  arrest  on  board  my  ship  ?  The 
offence,  sir — what  is  the  offence?  Is  it  a 
criminal  arrest  ? — which  one  of  my  passen- 

The  impatient  officer  interrupted  him  with 
a  still  more  hurried, 

4  No,  captain,  no ;  it  is  a  civil  action — 
but ' 

4  A  civil  action — then  it  is  no  crime  !  Well 
of  what  class  ?'  demanded  the  captain,  in  a 
tone  the  policeman  did  not  half  like. 

4  Debt,  sir — an  action  for  debt — 'ra  !  I  see 
our  man  1' 


u; 

32 


i/r 


KIT  CARSON. 


'DEBT!  DEBT!'  reiterated  the  bluff  skipper, 
debt,  hey  ?  Hark'ye,  Mr.  Policeman,'  and 
the  corpulent  captain  planted  his  stout  body 
directly  in  the  other's  way  ;  '  back,  sir,  out  of 
this  ship  instantly !' 

*  Captain,  let  me  pass  ?'  hurriedly  entreated 
the  officer. 

'What!  arrest  a  poor  devil  of  a  debtor  at 
the  very  moment  of  his  setting  sail  for  the  on 
ly  cruizing  ground  where  he  ever  has  the 
'hope  of  being  one  day  able  to  pay  off  his 
honest  debts  ?  Give  up  a  poor  fellow  to  a  set 
of  rascally  creditors,  whc  won't  even  give  him 
a  chance  for  his  life  ?  '  No  !  not  while  there's 
a  shot  in  the  locker,  d — ri  me  !' 

4  At  your  peril  prevent  me,'  hoarsely  the 
police  officer  cried,  calling  to  his  followers  ; 
4  on,  men,  on  ! — quick,  do  your  duy — there 
stands  the  prisoner !' 

4  At  your  peril  you  touch  a  passenger  of 
mine !'  roared  the  honest  old  seaman,  while 
to  the  sailors  at  the  gangway,  he  shouted, — 
*  Cast  off,  my  lads,  cast  off!  The  land-sharks 
shall  go  to  sea  with  us  !  I'll  teach  them  to 
put  a  poor  fellow  in  limbo  for  debt,  on  a  deck 
of  mine.' 

'  Seize  your  prisoner  !  seize  him  !'  shouted 
the  determined  policeman,  in  a  voice  husky 
with  passion.  '  Captain,  do  you  dare  oppose 
an  officer  of  justice  in  the  execution  of  the 
laws  ?  Beware,  sir  ! — beware  !  it  is  a  penal 
offence.' 

'To  the  devil  with  you  and  your  penal  of 
fences,  you  shark  !'  cried  the  noble  sea-dog, 
with  more  energy  than  refinement.  '  Mark 
me !  I  am  master  of  my  own  ship,  sir,  but  I 
need  no  land-lubber  to  tell  me  that  by  em 
ploying  force  to  protect  a  passenger  against 
gentlemen  of  your  kidney,  I  should  be  jeopar 
dizing  the  interests  of  my  owners  and  all  who 
sail  with  me,  as  well  as  rendering  this  vessel 
liable  to  be  detained ;  therefore,  I  cannot  in 
terfere  personally,  any  further,  in  this  matter 
— but  to  you,  gentlemen,'  turning  a  signifi 
cant  look  on  the  listening  crowd  of  passen 
gers,  4  if  you  choose  to  defend  one  of  your 
number — what  one  I  know  not — from  the 
clutches  of  a  griping  creditor,  it  may  not  be 
out  of  your  power  so  to  do.' 

The  sympathizing  passengers  at  once  took 
the  meaning  hint,  but  as  ignorant  as  the  skip 
per,  which  among  their  companions  the  dan 
ger  menaced,  they  hurriedly  closed  up  their 
ranks,  so  as  to  present  an  almost  impenetra 
ble  phalanx  to  the  three  policemen,  who,  lead 


on  by  their  chief,  were  endeavoring  to  perform 
their  duty. 

'  Your  weapons,  men  ;  your  weapons,'  com 
manded  the  now  exasperated  officer.  '  They 
resist,  aha  !  they  resist  the  law  !  Let  us  see 
if  they  will  venture  to  protect  a  fugitive  from 
justice.' 

'  Say,  rather,  a  poor  debtor,'  contemptuous 
ly  retorted  the  good  captain's   honest  tones — 
j  the  indignant  veteran  scarce  abk    to  restrain 
himself.      4  A  poor  debtor  hunted  down  like  a 
dog!' 

The  shout  of  applause  that  greeted  the  gen 
erous  speech  from  the  sympathizing  hundreds 
around,  was  coupled  with  a  single  order  by  a 
furious  voice, — 

'  Slung-shots,  my  men  !  Ready  ! — slung- 
shots !' 

And  that  formidable  instrument  of  aggres 
sion  and  defence,  so  notoriously  associated 
with  the  Boston  police  of  the  present  day, 
was  seen  aloft,  whirled  by  the  brandished 
arms  of  each  'of  the  trio — while  the  fierce 
tones  of  the  enfuriated  leader  rang  on  every 
ear, — 

'  Fight  your  way  to  the  prisoner  !  down 
with  them — down  with  them  ! 

Then  it  was  that  the  dismayed  passengers, 
appalled  by  the  sight  of  that  tremendous  wea 
pon,  and  awed  by  the  mysteriours  majesty  of 
the  law,  which  so  few  men  like  openly  to  re 
sist,  divided  right  and  left  before 'the  whiz 
zing  lanyards'  terrible  weight,  and  fell  back, 
each  upon  his  fellow — so  impotent  is  ever  an 
incongruous  mob  against  the  efforts  of  a  dis 
ciplined  police. 

4  Now  seize  your  man !  this  is  he  !'  cried 
the  chief  policeman,  energetically,  while  his 
pointed  finger  served  as  an  index  to  his  men. 
1  Eugene  Lincoln,  yoa  are  arrested  for  debt, 
at  the  suit  of  John  Vernon !' 

And  in  the  self  same  moment,  amazed,  con 
founded,  helpless,  from  the  stupefaction  of  sur 
prise,  the  utterly  overwhelmed  merchant's 
clerk  was  dragged  from  the  deck — dragged 
from  the  side  of  his  no  less  astounded  friend, 
— dragged  on  along  the  gangway,  and  over 
the  vessel's  side,  just  as  the  wondering  sailors 
themselves  had  slipped  the  cable,  while  the 
next  insjant  the  hapless  Lincoln  found  himself 
forced  on  the  crowded  wharf  once  more,  as 
off  from  the  countless  throng  on  the  shore, 
slowly,  majestically  the  good  ship  swung  that 
was  to  have  borne  to  fortune  and  to  happi 
ness,  the  ill-fated  young  man,  yet  left  him 


KIT  CARSON, 


33 


now  to  utter  misery,  and  to  the  stern  police,  a 
prisoner. 

And  still,  as  the  gallant  craft  fell  proudly 
off,  crowded  with  human  life  and  human  en 
ergy,  upon  a  mission  of  such  daring  enterprise 
and  bold  adventure  bound,  even  sympathy  for 
got,  in  wrapt  enthusiasm,  the  startling  occur 
rence  which  had  momentarily  aroused  it ;  and 
deep,  long,  and  loud  were  the  deafening  re 
petitions  of — 

4  California  !  California  forever  !— hurrah  ! 
hurrah  1* 

But  when  those  thunder-plaudits  knew  their 
first  instant's  intermission,  suddenly,  on  that 
crowded  deck  a  form  was  seen  to  rush  for 
ward,  as  if  bursting  from  a  spell,  and  tn  ac 
cents  of  thrilling  anguish,  a  female  voice  was 
heard,  clearly,  distinctly,  by  each  one  of  the 
assembled  multitude,  to  shriek  forth,  piercing 
ly,— 

'  MY  BROTHER  !  MY  BROTHER  !  Eugene — O 
God  !  Eugene  !  the  ship  is  at  sea — at  sea,  it 
is  bearing  me  away  from  you.  O  Heaven  ! 
we  are  separated — separated  forever.  What 
will  those  fearful  men  do  with  you,  my  poor 
poor  brother  ?  My  God  !— my  God  ! ' 

The  voice,  in  a  shriek  yet  more  piercing, 
lost  itself,  as  the  figure  was  seen  to  fall  pros 
trate  upon  the  vessel's  deck,  while,  on  the  in 
stant,  an  answering  cry  was  heard  faintly  from 
the  shore  ! 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  Discovery— The  Voyage  of  the  Gold  Seekers— 
A  Startling  Recognition. 

'  Men  are  the  sport  of  circumstances,  when 
The  circumstances  seem  the  sport  of  men.' 

BYRON. 

AN  actual  reality  was  the  closing  scene  of 
the  last  chapter,  and  he  who  imagines  it  to 
be  other  grossly  deceives  himself;  for  by  the 
Writer,  and  a  hundred  readers  beside,  was  it 
witnessed.  The  pursuit  of  the  police,  the  at 
tempted  apprehension,  the  arrest,  are  facts, 
each  and  all ;  the  incidents  we  have  thus  far 
described  are  actual  occurrences,  as,  also,  are 
those  that  are  to  follow. 

Difficult,  indeed,  would  it  be  to  describe, 
however  easy  to  conceive,  the  mingled  feel 
ings  of  Henry  Vernon,  at  the  sudden  and  un- 
forseen  catastrophe  that  now  so  strangely,  so 
unexoectedly  separated  him  from  that  bosom 


friend  and  intended  companion  of  his  adven* 
tures,  his  dangers  and  his  fortunes. 

The  first  momentary  effect  had  been  stupe* 
fied  bewilderment ;  the  first  active  impulse 
had  been  tosprimg  recklessly  forward  to  his 
aid — and  he  had  done  so,  but  it  was  too  late, 
it  was  in  vain — the  myrmidons  of  the  law  had 
already  succeeded  in  hurrying  their  petrified 
prisoner  from  the  protection  of  the  passengers 
and  from  the  ship,  and  the  vessel  itself  had 
glided  silently  away  from  the  wharf,  and  was 
now  at  sea. 

His  grief,  his  bitter  woe,  his  vain  regrets, 
would  perhaps  have  overpowered,  have  un 
manned  him  quite.  But  surprise  was  para- 
mout  to  all ;  surprise  at  the  strange  denounce 
ment  which  had  followed  his  friend's  arrest. — » 
The  wailing  tones  of  the  unknown  female  yet 
echoed  on  fancy's  ear,  and  the  agonized  ad 
juration,-— '  rny  brother!  my  brother''  still 
haunted  him. 

He  recognised  that  voice,  those  accents,  at* 
tuned  to  agony's  own  intonations  though  they 
were? ! 

'  Merciful  Heaven,  this  suspicion  !  he  ejacu* 
lated,  'can  there  be  truth  in  it  ?  Anywhere 
my  heart  would  recognise  those  loved  tones — • 
yes,  anywhere  save  here  !  It  must  have  been 
— I  could  not  so  deceive  myself— and  yet,  I 
see  no  female  dress,  no  female  form  among 
them  all.  Surely  that  was  a  woman's  voice  !* 

It  was  but  a  thought  and  a  bound,  and  he 
elbowed  his  way  through  the  throng  of  passen 
gers  to  that  part  of  the  crowded  ship  from 
whence  the  strange  voice  had  emanated,  and 
where  now  a  group  were  seen  bending  over 
some  object  of  common  observation  or  curi 
osity. 

There,  prostrate  on  the  hard,  cold  planks, 
his  face  pressed  against  an  oaken  pillow,  life 
less  and  unconscious  lay  the  youth  of  sixteen 
— the  young  boy  who  had  so  interested  his 
sympathy. 

4  Stand  aside  !  stand  aside  !  leave  him  to 
my  care,'  cried  Vernon,  in  a  voice  of  thun 
der,  as  he  raised  the  inanimate  form  and  ten 
derly  pressed  the  clay-cold  lips ;  for  in  that 
slight  frame,  and  beneath  that  boyish  attire, 
he  recognised,  also,  the  gentle  Ellen,  the  sis 
ter  of  his  poor  friend  ! 

4  'Tis  she — 'tis  she  !'  he  murmured,  *  But 
how  this  happens,  I  know  not !  But  ha,'  he 
muttered,  as  he  saw  wondering  eyes  fixed  on 
him,  as  once  more  his  lips  sought  those  of  the 
seeming  lad ;  '  I  must  use  caution ;  her  sex 


34 


KIT  CARSON. 


must  not  be  discovered — of  that  I  must  be* 
ware.' 

As  active  in  mind  as  in  body,  Henry  Ver- 
non  was  not  long  in  deciding  on  the  best  course 
to  be  pursued.  To  his  own  and  Lincoln's  ex 
clusive  use,  as  was  the  case  with  the  other 
passengers,  a  state-room  had  been  appropria 
ted  ;  and  to  this  he  quickly  bore  his  charge. 

Long,  long  he  sat,  half-recumbent  on  a  sofa 
which  formed  part  of  its  furniture  ;  her  dear 
head  pillowe^l  on  his  shoulder,  her  unconscious 
form  sustained  by  his  arm.  Long  and  anxious 
ly  watched  he  her  lifeless  countenance,  for  the 
first  sign  of  reviving  sensibility. 

So  wrapt  up  in  his  vigil,  so  absorbed  was 
he,  that  of  the  rapid  flight  of  time  took  he  no 
heed,  nor  heard  the  shrill  whistle  of  the  wind 
amid  the  vessel's  cordage,  overhead,  nor 
marked  the  heavy  tossing  of  the  ship  on  the 
rocking  swell  of  the  billows  underneath,  as 
each  and  all  betrayed  at  once  the  fact  that  for 
the  broad  and  boundless  ocean  had  been  ex 
changed  the  quiet  harbor  of  Old  Tri  Mount. 
But,  at  length,  the  glow  of  youth  and  health 
came  softly  stealing  back,  like  some  fair, 
white  rose-bud  faintly  blushing  in  the  morn's 
first  ruddy  hues,  and  then  the  sweet  blue  eyes 
looked  out  on  him,  dimly,  coldly,  vacantly  at 
first,  but  gradually  gathering  light  and  lustre, 
like  the  brightening  stars,  until,  from  the  lifted 
lashes,  until  from  the  parted  lips,  came  in 
both  mute  and  spoken  language,  the  heart's 
tell-tale  echo, — 

'  Eugene — Harry.' 

*  The   last  shadow   of    doubt   vanishes  ! — 
Ellen,  dearest  Ellen,  the  youth  replied  with  a 
fond   caress,    4  it   is,   indeed,   your  precious 
self.' 

But  wildly  the  disguised  girl  arose  erect,  as 
wildly  pressed  her  hand  across  her  sunny 
brow,  and  as  wildly  asked, — 

'  In  Heaven's  name,  where  am  I  ?  Why  do 
I  find  myself  in  this  strange  place  ?  and  from 
whence  comes  this  strange  rocking  beneath 
my  feet  ?  What  terrible  blank  is  this  within 
my  mind  ?' 

In  confused  and  indistinct  remembrance, 
with  a  painful  effort  to  collect  the  broken  train 
of  recollection,  for  a  moment  she  kept  silent. 

4  Ah!  I  remember!  I  remember! — the 
crowd, — the  ship, — the  wharf, — my  brother  ! 
Ah,  yes  !  I  do  remember  now;  but  Eugene — 
where  is  Eugene  ?' 

*  In  the  hands  of  the  police,  Ellen,  the  last 
time  I   saw   him — perhaps   in   prison,   now,' 


sorrowfully  uttered  Vernon,  trying  to  soothe 
her. 

'  In  prison !  the  police  !  O,  great  Heaven, 
then  it  was  no  dream !  Eugene,  my  lost 
Eugene  !  you  who,  from  infancy,  have  watch 
ed  over  me,  with  more  than  a  brother's  ten 
derness,  with  more  than  a  father's  care,  am  I 
now  deserting  you,  abandonding  you  to  a  pri 
son,  a  felon's  fate,  and,  O  worse  than  all !  to 
the  torturing  knowledge  that  a  lost  sister  is 
the  tenant  of  a  strange  ship,  a  helpless,  un 
protected  girl,  at  the  mercy  of  every  one.— 
Fatal,  fatal  blow  !  and  thrice  fatal  the  hour 
that  tempted  me  to  this !  My  brother,  O,  my 
brother !  we  shall  never  meet  again.  But 
no ' 

And,  with  a  thrilling  thought  the  frantic 
girl  grasped  her  lover's  arm, — 

4  Henry,  as  you  love  me,  she  fairly  shriek 
ed,  I  charge  you,  by  your  hopes  of  Heaven, 
by  your  friendship  for  Eugene,  I  charge  you 
leave  me,  this  instant,  fly,  fly  to  the  good 
captain,  who  would  have  stayed  those  vile 
wretches'  hands,  and,  in  the  name  of  human 
ity,  beseech  him  to  put  back  to  port,  to  return 
me  to  my  brother,  my  suffering,  captive  bro 
ther,  parted  from  me  thus  fearfully.  Go, 
Henry,  go !' 

4 1  will,  I  will.  If  words  can  move  him,  he 
shall  consent,  and  you  yet  be  restored  to 
Eugene's  arms.' 

And  Vernon,  thus  speaking,  hurried  from 
the  state  room. 

It  was  long  ere  he  returned  from  his  love- 
delegated  errand.  To  poor  Ellen,  it  seemed 
like  eternity  the  time  he  was  gone  ;  and  then 
he  scarcely  needed  to  tell  her  that  which  from 
his  gloomy  countenance  she  fearfully  argued, 
as  hurriedly  she  demanded  upon  his  reappear 
ance, — 

4  You  have  failed,  Henry ;  I  see  it  in  your 
face.' 

4  Too  true,  too  true,'  murmured  the  lover  ; 
4  the  ship  is  no  longer  in  Boston  Harbor — we 
are  upon  the  broad  Atlantic,  ten  miles  from 
port,  with  a  favoring  gale  fast  sweeping  out 
to  see.  The  captain,  believe  me,  feels  for 
you,  for  I  have  partly  told  your  story,  but  he 
declares  that  to  return  is  impossible.  Fate 
is  against ' 

'  Lost,  lost,  lost ! — the  last  hope  has  per 
ished  !'  gasped  the  moaning  girl,  as  her  trem 
bling  limbs  refused  their  office  and  she  sank 
helplessly  back. 

Once  more  she  had  swooned !      And  this 


KIT  CARSON, 


lime  it  seemed  as  if  a  trance  was  upon  her ; 
so  protracted  and  almost  deathlike  was  the 
state  in  which  for  full  twenty-four  hours  she 
remained,  while  over  her,  a  manly  form  kept 
ceaseless  watch. 

At  the  end  of  that  time  came  a  salutary 
change,  not  only  '  from  both  mental  and 
bodily  insensibility  to  perfect  consciousness, 
but  also  from  the  former  frantic  agitation  to 
a  milder  mood. 

She  was  now  more  composed  and  ration 
al,  and  could  speak  with  comparative  calm 
ness  on  the  important  subject  which  so  en 
grossed,  of  course,  her  thoughts.  Her  first 
question  was— — 

'  The  captain,  the  good  captain,  Henry- 
did  you,  did  you,  reveal  my — my  sex  to 
him  ?'  she  stammered,  with  crimson  face 
and  neck. 

*  1  did  not  tell  hirn  all ;  I  did,  however, 
give  him  to  understand  that  the  person-  ar 
rested  was  your  brother,  but  this  involved 
no  betrayal  of  your  secret,  leaving  still  the 
impression  that  you  were  a  boy.' 

1  And  he  :  he  would  not  listen  to  my  re 
quest  ?' 

4  He  did,  he  would  have  done  so,  but  for 
the  voice  of  others.  His  generous  heart  was 
moved,  was  touched  by  your  distress ;  I  saw 
it;  and  in  spite  of  every  obstacle,  I  fully 
believe  he  would  have  put  the  ship  about, 
and  carried  the  '  poor  boy'  as  he  called  you' 
back.  But  others  were  less  considerate ; 
the  passengers  were  loud  in  their  murmurs 
and  clamorous  against  the  delay  and  deten 
tion  it  would  cause,  and  the  loss,  beside,  of 
the  fair  wind,  before  which  the  voyage  had 
been  prosperously  commenced.  He  saw  that 
to  return,  would  oblige  him  to  beat  against 
a  strong  wind  into  the  harbor;  nor  was  he 
ignorant  he  had  no  right  to  put  about  for 
port,  after  the  vessel  had  once  cleared.  You 
can  perceive  how  embarrassing  to  the  gen 
erous  sailor  must  have  been  his  situation  ; 
you  know  how  long  I  was  absent  from  you, 
trying  to  prevail  upon  him,  but  in  vain  ;  he 
felt  compelled  to  heed  his  passengers'  re 
monstrances. 

'Heartless,  unfeeling  men!  but  no,  I'll 
not  censure  them.  What  right  had  I,  or  my 
private  sorrows  to  interfere  with  their  plans 
of  enterprise  and  fortune  ?  It  were  presump 
tion  in  such  as  I  to  detain  them  one  hour 
from  the  prize  for  which  they  brave  so 
much  1  I  must  not  forget  that  my  poor 


brother,  too,  sought    the  same  golden  goal/ 
said  the  no  less  generous  girl. 

As  she  spoke  the  last  words,  her  eye,  un 
til  now  vacant,  save  when  confined  to  the 
countenance  of  her  lover,  wandered  around 
the  state-room. 

That  glance  changed  to  a  look  of  start 
led  surprise,  as  a  second  gaze  convinced 
her  of  the  nature  of  the  place,  which  con 
tained  herself  and  him  who  best  loved  her. 
The  warm  flush  of  alarmed  modesty  color 
ed,  even  yet  more  rosily,  her  cheek,  as  she 
recoiled,  exclaiming,— 

'  Where  have  you  brought  me,  Henry  ?— - 
Why  did  you  bring  me  here  ?' 

The  youth  started  and  colored  as  deeply  as 
herself. 

4  Ellen  !'  he  said. 

4  0  Henry  !  I  little  thought  this  of  you  ?' 
she  murmured,  in  painful  confusion ;  4  my 
poor  brother,  ever  kind,  ever  considerate, 
once  bade  me  beware  lest  you,  perchance, 
might  prove ' 

'Ellen!  Ellen!' 

v  4  Leave  me,  sir !  Leave  me,  forever  !'  was 
the  stern  command  of  offended  innocence. 

4  God  of  Heaven  !  Ellen ' 

4  Libertine,  begone  !* 

Vernon,  confounded,  was  silent,  though  he 
did  not  obey  her.  He  could  not  misunder 
stand  her  meaning  ;  but  his  astonishment  at 
such  a  misconstruction  of  his  motives,  com 
pletely  thunderstruck  him.  Before  he  could 
find  words  for  answer,  she  had  anticipated 
him,  by  saying,  in  the  same  firm  tone,-^— 

4  Reply  is  needless,  sir.  Seek  not  by  words 
to  cloak  the  purpose  of  a  libertine  !  At  least, 
throw  not  over  the  open  villainy  of  your  de 
sign,  the  transparent  veil  of  attempted  decep 
tion.  Go,  sir,  I  renounce  you  and  your  liber 
tine  love  for  ever !' 

And  with  a  hidden  face  and  a  choking 
voice,  she  motioned  him  from  the  state-room. 

Now,  if  ever,  was  the  time  for  the  lover  to 
speak  ;  now,  if  ever,  was  the  time  for  him  to 
act !  He  took  one  step  forward,  he  kelt  at 
her  feet,  he  gently  clasped  her  trembling 
hand,  he  gazed  up  into  the  averted  face,  with 
burning  blushes  dyed. 

That  hand  was  withdrawn,  but  so  slowly,  so 
quiveringly,  with  so  visible  an  effort,  that  he 
took  courage  to  venture  farther. 

4  Ellen,  Ellen,  you  whom  an  hour  ago  I 
should  not  have  trembled  to  call  4  dear,'  in  a 
low  and  pleading  voice  he  sofVy  said,4  doyou« 


KIT  CARSON. 


can  you,  in  your  heart  impute  to  me  the  un 
worthy  motive  you  accuse  me  of  ?  Is  it  pos 
sible  that,  in  your  estimation  I  have  sunk  so 
low,  as  ••• '  ••>< 

4  Would  to  Heaven,  Henry,  I  had  no 
grounds  to  judge  you  thus  ;  but  this  scene, 
this  place,  your  bringing  me  here,'  sobbed 
the  wavering  girl,  one  moment  crimson  with 
maiden  shame,  the  next,  pale  with  alternating 
fears  and  hopes  ;  *  alas  !  what  else  am  I  to 
think?  what  else  ought VI  to  suppose  and  to 
guard  myself  in  time  against?  And  yet,  dear 
Henry,  you  whom  I  thought,  of  all  your  sex 
the  noblest — save  alone,  my  brother — to  deem 
that  you  now— ah  !  I  cannot  speak  the  word  !' 
4  Utter  it  not !—  utter  it  not !' 
And  the  emboldened  lover,  in  joy  at  her  re 
lenting,  leaped  up  from  his  knee,  and  casting 
one  arm  around  her  fragile  waist,  with  the 
other  he  drew  her  to  his  heaving  breast  and 
pressed,  with  passionate  fondness,  his  warm 
lips  to  her  own, 

But  the  action  had  been  too  sudden,  the  re 
vulsion  too  abrupt  5  wavering  conviction  had 
been  mistaken  for  yielding  confidence,  and 
the  reconciliation-seeking  lover,  by  over  pre 
cipitation,  had  lost  his  vantage  ground  and 
ruined  his  cause. 

Like  some  charmed  bird,  breaking  from  the 
serpent's  fascination,  Ellen  freed  herself  from 
his  embrace,  with  the  haste  of  a  frightened 
fawn  ;  awakening  Vernon,  instantly  to  a  sense 
of  his  error,  as  she  exclaimed,  ifi  indignation  : 
4  Enough,  sir,  full  enough  !  I  can  no  longer 
deceive  myself.  Now,  indeed,  you  stand  un 
masked,  unmasked  of  your  hypocrisy  !  I  know 
you  now  for  a  heartless  libertine.  Ha  !  and 
did  you  presume  so  far  upon  your  .power — 
did  you  deem  me  so  completely  in  your  toils, 
that  you  could  make  the  weak  and  unprotect 
ed  girl  your  unresisting  prey  ?  Henry  Ver 
non,  I  know  you  and  defy  you  !  Dare  but  to 
touch,  to  approach  me — dare  but  to  offer  a 
second  insult,  or  a  repetition  of  the  last,  and, 
by  the  blessed  memory  of  my  departed  mo 
ther,  I  will  cry  out,  I  will  alarm  the  ship  P 

4  Do  so,'  said  the  tortured  lover,  calmly, 
coldly  now  ;  for  pride,  love's  foe,  had  been 
harshly  awakened.  4  Do  so  ;  I  will  not  oppose 
you ;  1  will  not  stay  your  hand  ;  I  will  not  still 
your  voice  ;  nor  will  I  fly  this  spot.  Call  out 
— I  will  not  stir  one  step.  Call  out  to  those 
on  deck,  to  the  hundreds  above  our  heads, 
give  the  alarm,  bid  them  come  drag  me  from 
your  side,  as  the  coward  insulter  of  a  woman.' 


4  Hear  me  !'  he  continued, 4  one  whisper  of 
your  dark  suspicion  to  the  noble  captain,  and 
an  hour,  perhaps,  would  see  me  dangling  a 
dishonored  corpse  from  yonder  yard-arm, 
by  the  justly  indignant  seaman's  orders. — • 
Hear,  girl,  hear!  I  am  pointing  out  the  way 
in  which  you  can  avenge-  your  insulted  in- 
cence !  Come !  I  will  even  help  you  to 
your  vengeance- — what  care  I  for  life,  when 
one  base  suspicion  can  lose  me  thus  your 
love  ?  for  what  should  Henry  Vernon  wish  to 
live,  when  he  has  so  changed,  in  one  day's 
time,  that  all  of  his  former  self  has  disappear 
ed,  and  in  his  place  stands  a  fiend  ?  O,  Ellen  ! 
cruel,  unfeeling  girl,  may  Heaven  pardon  you 
the  wrong  you  do  me  ?' 

A  convulsive  sob  burst  from  the  lips  that 
could  not  articulate  a  syllable. 

4  Ah,  now  you  hear  me — now  you  mark  my 
words  !  It  is  well ;  will  you  not  be  guided  by 
their  counsel  ?  Follow  it,'  pursued  the  lover, 
in  his  bitter  irony,  '  hesitate  not  an  instant 
more  to  give  the  alarm — your  revenge  is  sure. 
If  your  dark  thoughts  have  done  me  no  in* 
justice,  my  punishment  cannot  be  too  great — 
death  at  the  yard-arm  of  the  vessel  would  be 
but  a  meet  penalty  for  villainy  like  mine.' 

The  student  had  paused,  with  folded  arms, 
and  his  dark  eye  fixed  fully  upon  her.  One 
glance  at  that  open  brow,  one  look  at  that 
truthful  face,  one  long,  deep  gaze  into  those 
proud  orbs  and  the  orphan  girl  sprang  toward 
Vernon. 

4  Forgive,  Henry,  forgive  me,  if  ever  you 
loved  me — -if  still  you  can  love  the  wretched 
girl  who  has  dared,  in  her  thoughts,  to  do  you 
such  foul  wrong.  By  my  mother's  sainted 
soul  I  do  believe  you  !' 

Love's  pardon  is  granted  from  the  lips — it 
was  granted  now.  The  head  sank  confiding 
ly  once  more  upon  the  shoulder  that  so  often 
had  pillowed  it,  while  a  soft  voice  slowly  mur 
mured, — 

'  What  a  wretch  I  was  to  doubt  you !' 
4  No,  no,  dear  Ellen;  it  was  but  proof  of 
stainless  innocence  ;  I  love  you,  honor  you, 
yet  the  more  for  it.  Believe  me,  dear  girl, 
believe  me,  it  was  concern  for  you  alone,  ap 
prehension  lest  the  secret  of  your  true  charac 
ter  should  be  discovered,  that  actuated  me, 
when,  in  the  excitement  of  my  own  recogni 
tion  of  you,  in  my  wild  terror  at  your  swoon, 
I  bore  you  to  the  only  retreat  known  to  me, 
— my  own  state  room — where  you  could  be 
secure  from  vulgar  curiosityor  idle  observation. 


KIT  CARSON. 


37 


4  Ah)  how  could  I  doubt  your  generous  na 
ture  ?' 

'One  word  more, —  it  was  imprudent  in 
me;  I  should  have  been  less  precipitate.  I 
should,  at  least,  then,  have  saved  myself  from 
such  bitter  reflections  upon  my  mistaken  mo 
tives — bitter,  O  how  bitter!  delicately,  in 
genuously  as  they  were  framed.  But  say  no 
more  of  this--it  is  forgotten,  dearest.' 

4  Forgotten,  O  let  it  be.  It  was  the  wild  ex 
citement,  the  delirium  of  the  moment,  of  all  I 
had  gone  through,  that  conjured  up  that  sense 
less  fancy  in  this  heated  brain.  But,  dear 
Henry,'  she  added,  and  hesitated,  while  the 
deep  'blushes  again  suffused  her  lovely  face, 
*  I  carinoi  remain  HERE.' 

4  You  must  not !  I  will  procure  another  for 
your  use  ;  or  stay !  I  will  surrender  this  to 
your  sole  privacy,  while  I  find  other  quarters 
for  myself.' 

4  No,  Henry ;  I  am  myself  entitled  to  a 
berth  on  board  this  ship — I,  too,  have  paid  my, 
passage  to  fatal  California.  But  I  had  for 
gotten  that  you  know  nothing  of  this.' 

Henry  Vernon  was  indeed  ignorant  of  all 
— at  least,  he  knew  nothing  save  by  surmise  ; 
and  it  was  with  gladness  that  he  now  saw  her 
at  length  sufficiently  calm  and  composed  to 
explain  that  which  still  perplexed  and  puzzled 
him. 

She  did  so,  briefly  and  clearly. 

On  the  night  when  Vernon  and  Lincoln  had 
announced  their  intent  on  of  seeking,  together, 
the  shores  of  California,  the  shocked  and  start 
led  sister  formed  the  determination  of  accom 
panying  them. 

This  was  her  resolution,  actually,  though 
suddenly  conceived — but  how  to  bring  it  to 
execution  was  the  difficulty.  It  was  evident 
to  the  resolute  girl  that  if  she  sought  success 
in  her  scheme,  she  must  contrive  to  prevent 
any  discovery  of  her  presence  on  board  by 
Eugene  and  his  companion  ;  at  least  until  the 
ship  had  sailed  ;  for  she  was  well  assured, 
that,  once  at  sea,  it  would  be  impossible  to  re 
turn  ;  and  her  grand  object  was,  therefore,  to 
conceal  her  identity  until  all  danger  of  dis 
covery  should  be  past. 

At  length  she  hit  upon  a  plan.  She  would 
assume  the  dress  and  manners  of  a  boy,  and 
ascertaining  the  ship  in  which  they  were  to 
sail,  in  this  disguise  take  passage  in  her.  Her 
brother's  liberality  had  provided  her  with  the 
pecuniary  means  necessary  to  the  plan's  ex 
ecution. 


The  three  hundred  dollars  of  the  provision 
made  for  her,  she  contracted  for  her  passage 
with,  in  the  character  of  a  boy.  But  that  the 
worthy  dame,  her  kind  guardian,  might  not  be 
distressed  and  terrified  by  her  sudden  dis 
appearance,  before  going  on  board,  she  put 
in  the  post  office  a  letter,  fully  explaining  all 
the  reasons  for  the  strange  proceedings  and 
stating  that,  once  at  sea,  she  should  be  under 
her  kind  brother's  protection,  and  free  from 
danger. 

The  rest,  Ellen's  auditor  already  knew  ; 
the  embarkation,  the  interruption,  the  arrest 
of  the  devoted  young  man,  the  separation  of 
brother  and  sisier — these,  he  had  been,  like 
the  reader,  a  witness  to. 

Both  the  young  girl  and  her  sole  remaining 
protector,  were  deeply  affected  in  recurring 
to  that  thrilling  reminiscence,  though  Henry 
did  his  best  to  comfort  the  sweet  girl,  assur 
ing  her  that  all  would  turn  out  for  the  best ; 
for  a  beneficent  Providence  never  deserted 
afflicted  innocence. 

Ellen  seemed  to  derive  consolation  from  the 
same  heavenly  source,  bearing  up  against  her 
sorrows. 


Several  days  had  elapsed.  The  good  ship 
was  already  far  upon  her  voyage.  Hundreds 
of  leagues  had  been  passed — the  vessel  was  a 
rapid  sailer.  Ellen  Lincoln,  still  retaining 
her  boy's  disguise,  was  little  seen  at  first,  but 
then  it  was  always  in  Vernon's  company,  and 
always  productive  of  interest  among  the  pas 
sengers,  whose  attention  had  been  so  pecu 
liarly  drawn  toward  the  supposed  youth  and 
his  misfortune. 

This  reserve  by  degrees  wore  off,  and  ere 
many  days,  she  was  almost  constant  in  her 
daily  appearances  upon  deck,  the  watchful 
Henry  ever  by  her  side,  to  guard  her  from  all 
danger  that  a  lover's  ready  concern  could  ap 
prehend. 

It  was  a  clear  and  beautiful  evening,  save 
that  the  winter  air  was  keen  and  cold,  and  the 
sun  was  setting  in  the  deep,  dark  ocean  to  the 
westward,  where  no  sign  of  land  was  visible 
to  bound  the  watery  horizon.  The  passen 
gers,  all  save  Henry  and  Ellen,  had,  apparent 
ly,  just  descended  to  the  supper-table  in  the 
grand  cabin,  and  as  the  two  latter,  attracted 
by  the  beauty  and  grandeur  of  the  scene, 
lingered  by  the  companion-way,  reluctant  to 
tear  themselves  from  the  enjoyment  of  so  fine 


38 


KIT  CARSON. 


a  prospect,  a  sudden  and  unexpected  incident 
took  place. 

That  which  first  caught  their  attention  was 
the  sound  of  a  shambling  and  unsteady  step 
slowly  ascending.  It  seemed  to  come  from 
the  steerage,  and  it  was  but  a  moment  ere 
they  beheld,  on  turning  their  looks  thither,  a 
person  emerge  from  the  hatchway  of  the 
second  class  cabin,  and  stagger  along  with 
that  peculiar  wavering  gait  and  seeming  loose 
ness  of  the  limbs,  which  characterise  the  hu 
man  system  when  under  the  influence  of  that 
notorious,  but  not  favorably-known,  disease, 
sea-sickness. 

The  comparatively  deserted  state  of  the 
decks  caused  their  observation  to  revert  to  that 
which  otherwise  would  have  passed  unnoticed  ; 
and  when  the  steerage  passenger  appeared, 
confining  himself,  however  to  that  portion  of 
the  vessel  assigned  to  his  class,  his  peculiar 
aspect  was  well  calculated  to  fix  the  curious 
eye. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  but  an  old  man — an 
old  man,  simply — his  white  hairs  floating  in 
long,  spare  locks  from  a  partially  bald  fore 
head  ;  his  body  so  distorted  by  the  weight  of 
years,  apparently,  that  the  curved  back  assum 
ed  almost  the  shapeless  hunch  of  deformity, 
and  gave  him  the  appearance  of  walking 
double  ;  imparting  thus  an  air  of  decrepitude, 
greater,  probably  than  was  the  case,  but  in 
nowise  diminished  by  the  peculiar  carriage  of 
the  head,  which  thrust  unnaturally  forward, 
and  resting  on  his  stooping  chest,  into  promin 
ent  relief  threw  his  protuberant  chin,  well  nigh 
meeting  the  sharp,  thin  nose,  between  which 
the  skinny  and  shrivelled  lips  lost  themselves, 
and  their  toothless  gums.  But  the  chief  and 
most  expressive  feature  was  the  eye ;  it  was 
small,  sunken,  but  piercing  as  that  of  a  ser 
pent,  and  full  of  shrewdness  and  cunning, 
though  there  was  also  a  certain  wild  ness  in  it, 
•which  was  difficult  to  define,  at  first. 

Slowly  hobbling  along,  evidently  overcome 
by  the  nausea  of  sea-sickness,  this  grotesque 
portrait  shuffled  to  the  bulwark  of  the  steerage 
and  leaning  over  the  side  for  air,  his  withered 
face  turned  more  fully  toward  the  two  young 
passengers  above. 

*  Shuddering,  she  scarce  knew  why,  Ellen 
instinctively  whispered, — 

1  Let  us  go,  let  us  go  !  I  like  not  that  old 
man's  looks.1 

But  almost  at  the  same  instant  she  felt  the 
young  man  beside  her  violently  start,  in  a  tone 


bordering  upon  horror,  ejaculating, — 

'  It  is — it  is ! — JOHN  VE^NON  a  passenger  in 

this  ship !' 

The  old  man  raised   his  head  and  the  eyes 

of  both  met. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

The  Voyage  of  the  Gold  Hunters— The  Monoma 
mac's  History — The  old  Miser's  Scheme. 

FOR  the  moment  all  was  still,  all  was  silence 
unbroken.  The  two  stood,  spell-bound,  gaz 
ing  at  each  other, — Hemy  thunder-struck  by 
the  discovery. 

4  'Tis  he — 'tis  he — John  Vernon  !  and  my 
mother's  presentiments,  my  own  suspicions, 
were  correct !'  Henry  found  voice,  at  length, 
to  exclaim. 

But  the  old  man  had  disappeared  ! 

The  lips  of  Ellen  repeated  the  name, — 

4  John  Vernon,  John  Vernon  ?  Ha !  was 
not  that  the  name  of  the  creditor  who  caused 
Eugene's  arrest  ?  was  not  that  the  name  pro 
nounced  by  the  officer?' 

Slightly  started  the  student  as  he  answer 
ed, — 

4  It  was  !  it  was ! — and  my  uncle  was  that 


man. 

4  Your  uncle  ?' 


4  My  uncle,  Ellen.  Yonder  old  man  stands 
in  that  light  to  me — but,  I  had  forgotten,  he  is 
gone.' 

4  He  a  relative  of  yours,  Henry  ?  He,  the 
unfeeling  person  through  whose  agency  my 
brother  was  ruthlessly  torn  from  me  !  Vernon 
— Vernon  !  aha  !  I  see  now  ;  it  must  be  so  ; 
this  is  your  family  name !'  breathlessly  ex 
claimed  the  young  girl,  all  astonishment  at 
what  she  had  seen  and  heard. 

'  And  accursed  be  the  relationship,'  mut 
tered  the  youth,  in  a  suppressed  tone, 

4  You  love  him  not,  then  ;  you  love  not  your 
kinsman  ?'  was  the  girl's  eager  demand  ;  4  O 
say !  why  did  he  thus  persecute  my  unfortu 
nate  brother  ?' 

4  As  Heaven  is  above  me,  I  know  not !'  was 
the  impressive  reply  ;  4  I  know  not,  I  say,  and 
yet  it  is  not  difficult  to  guess.  As  a  miserly 
man,  John  Vernon  has  ever  been  well  known 
— it  is  not  wonderful  that  he  should  pursue  a 
luckless  debtor  to  the  last.' 

4  His  debtor  !  Eugene  a  debtor  of  his  ?  my 


KIT  CARSON. 


39 


brother  was  no  man's  debtor,'  replied  Ellen, 
quickly. 

'  Are  you  sure  of  this  ?' 

1  Perfectly,  Henry  !  Solemnly  he  assured 
me,  when  he  so  amply  provided  for  my  wel 
fare,  that  I  need  not  scruple  to  accept  all,  for 
he  had  still  retained  sufficient  to  equip  him  for 
his  destined  voyage,  and  owed  not  a  dollar  in 
the  world — that  this  was  all  that  he  cared 
for.' 

4  Still,'  said  Vernon,  doubtfully,  4  it  was  for 
debt  he  was  arrested.' 

4  It  was — and  this  it  is  that,  now  I  reflect  on 
it,  most  surprises  me  !  But  I  am  confident 
Eugene  could  not  have  been  mistaken.' 

4  Some  trivial  obligation  he  might  have  for 
gotten,'  suggested  Henry. 

4  No,  no ;  he  was  ever  strict  in  such  mat 
ters.  Nay,  more  ;  he  never  contracted  even 
the  smallest  liabilities;  his  meagre  salary  was 
made  to  suffice  for  all.  This  I  have  often 
heard  him  declare.' 

4  Indeed  !'  uttered  Vernon,  thoughtfully,  for 
he  was  staggered. 

4  Then  there  must  have  been  some  other 
motive  at  work  !  What  else  could  it  be,'  pur 
sued  the  student,  reflectingly.  4  If,  as  you 
assert,  no  debt  really  exists,  then  it  could  not 
be  to  a  creditor's  avarice,  merely,  that  the  ar 
rest  was  owing.  And  besides,  now  I  think  of 
it,  what  possible  indebtedness  could  the  poor 
merchant's  clerk  have  incurred  to  such  a  man 
as  my  uncle  ?  One  thing,  therefore,  is 
plain 

4  And  that  is '  ventured  the  anxious 

Ellen. 

4  That  the  alleged  debt  was  nothing  but  a 
fiction, 

4  A  fiction  ! — but  the  purpose — what  could 
be  the  purpose  ?' 

4  Of  that  I  am  ignorant,  Ellen,  save  that  it 
might  be  a  device  to  detain  your  brother. — 
Indeed  that  is  the  only  light  in  which  I  can 
look  at  the  matter  now  ;  as  a  sheer  fabrication 
originating  from  malicious  motives.' 

In  fresh  surprise,  Ellen  asked, — 

4  But,  Eugene,  what  connexion  could  exist 
between  your  uncle  and  Eugene  ?  I  never 
knew  that  he  was  acquainted  with  any  mem 
ber  of  your  family  beside  yourself.' 

4  To  my  certain  knowledge  he  was  not,'  re 
plied  Vernon,  with  deep  deliberation,  while 
his  brow  contracted  slightly,  as  conflicting 
conclusions  seemed  to  agitate  his  thoughts. — 
1  Listen  to  me,  Ellen  !  The  more  I  reflect, 


the  more  am  I  satisfied,  that  but  one  possible 
way  is  there  to  account  for  the  course  so  sin 
gularly  taken  by  my  kinsman.  I  have  reasons 
of  my  own  Ellen,'  continued  the  young  man, 
in  a  meaning  tone,  '  believing  this  relative  of 
mine  to  be  no  friend  to  me  or  my  welfare  ; 
and  cause  to  fear,  also,  that  if,  by  subtle  con 
trivance,  I  can  be  at  any  time  removed  from 
his  way,  the  cunning  attempt  will  not  fail  of 
being  made.  Nay,  do  not  yet  interrupt  me  ! 
— the  suspicion  that  has  occurred  to  me  is 
this, — 

And  the  speaker's  voice  became  a  whisper 
as  he  added, — 

4  By  some  unknown  means  my  uncle  might 
have  ascertained  that  a  bosom  friend,  and  that 
friend  your  brother,  was  to  accompany  me. — 
And,  knowing  this,  if,  as  I  strongly  suspect, 
his  designs  against  my  safety  are  to  be  put  in 
execution  during  this  voyage — would  not  his 
crafty  mind  first  suggest  to  him  the  expedi 
ency  of  removing  from  his  nephew's  presence 
and  his  nephew's  side,  one  whose  friendh 
hand  and  friendly  aid  would  ever  be  near  lo 
protect  and  defend  the  destined  victim.  Thu  ;, 
thus  only,  can  I  explain  it ;  this  was  the  firsi 
precaution  to  be  taken,  and  thus  to  the  fact  ot' 
being  my  friend,  Eugene  owes  his  arrest.' 

Ellen,  lost  in  wonder,  was  a  moment  silent, 
then  said,  with  a  shudder, — 

4  Dear  man  !  And  this,  then,  was  but  \\ 
malicious  prosecution,  a  stratagem  to  separate 
you  from  a  friend,  who  might  interfere  wiiii 
his  dark  purposes.  And  this,  Henry,  from  an 
uncle.' 

4  Yes,  Ellen,  this  from  an  uncle — this  ari'i 
•more  !     Think    not  that   I  have  judged  hir, 
'harshly — for   to   you,   alone,  have  I  ever,  tx 
yet,  breathed   it — the  first  attempt  has  bee. 
made. 

4  What !  here  on  board  ?'  in  quick  alarm  in 
quired  Ellen. 

4  No,  not  in  this  ship,  thank  God,  but  on  tl-r? 
distant  shores  we  have  left  behind.  It  was  in 
Boston,  Ellen.  Enough,  that  by  a  hircJ 
villain  of  this  same  uncle  I  was  beset,  not  on<- 
week  ere  this  ship  and  I  quitted  the  city.  They 
sought  to  implicate  me  in  a  street  fight  tha>, 
in  the  brawl,  I  might  seem  to  have  perished 
by  the  reckless  hand  of  some  maddened  rioter, 
instead  of  receiving  my  death-blow  by  deliber 
ate  design.  Dearest  Ellen,  your  noble  bro 
ther,  by  chance  prevent  the  complete  success 
of  this  hellish  plan  for  my  secret  assassination  : 
and,  defeated  in  this,  by  my  'mcle's  bribed 


40 


KIT  CARSON. 


mercenary,  I  was  subsequently  waylaid,  and 
my  life  attempted  by  an  open  murderer's  hand. 
It  was  alone,  in  the  grounds  of  Harvard  Uni 
versity,  at  night,  after  twelve  o'clock — in  de 
fending  myself,  I  turned  his  own  weapon  upon 
him,  in  wresting  it  from  his  iron  grasp  ;  by 
accident  it  was  discharged,  and  I  unwittingly 
became  his  executioner.' 

'  His  executioner,'  iterated  the  appalled 
girl,  ;<;frv 

1  Hush  !  speak  lower — even  so.  But  heed 
me  well.  Now  mark  what  followed.' 

And  still  closer  to  her  side  he  drew,  and 
more  warily  still  sunk  the  deep,  low  voice,  as 
he  spoke  to  her  then  of  that  to  which  the 
reader  is  as  yet  a  stranger. 

4  Hist !  no  ear  must  hear  me,  save  your 
own.  The  muderous  attempt  was  defeated, 
the  assassin  slain,  yet  all  danger  was  not  gone 
— one  greater,  more  forbidding  than  all  the 
rest,  remained :  I  had  killed  a  fellow  being. — 
There  were  no  witnesses  of  the  man's  pre 
vious  attack  upon  my  life,  no  proof  that  he 
was  an  assassin  ;  the  law  might  regard  me  as 
his  murderer  ;  nay,  it  would,  were  his  death 
by  my  hand  known ! 

4  One  thing  admitted  of  no  doubt ;  J  must 
conceal  the  body,  and  with-  it  the  deed  for 
ever.  But  what  course  could  I  take,  even  in 
this  ?  To  drag  the  corpse  to  some  place  of 
concealment,  would  involve  me  in  imminent 
danger  of  discovery.  To  leave  it  thus  exposed 
was  greater  peril  still.  The  chances  of  reach 
ing  some  secure  hiding-place,  were  as  one  to 
ten  against  it.  I  was  filled  with  despair,  with 
utter  despondency,  when  Heaven  itself  seem 
ed  to  come  to  my  aid.  P  ,  I 
4  How,  Henry,  how  ?' 

4  A  snow-storm  had  commenced  !  I  hailed 
it  as  a  harbinger.  Gladly,  exultingly,  I  watch 
ed  the  very  snow  flakes  as  they  fell !  Down, 
down  they  came,  thick  and  fast  in  one  cease 
less  shower  of  sparkling  atoms,  as  if  the  skies 
were  raining  pearls  ;  and  priceless,  as  a  gem, 
in  truth  seemed  then  each  falling  snow  drop  ; 
for  how  could  I  well  be  blind  to  the  possible 
consequences  ?'  I  was  not  deceived  ;  in  one 
hour  the  snow  was  a  foot  deep  ;  and  long  ere 
the  earliest  riser  in  the  city  had  stirred  abroad 
it  lay,  to  twice  that  depth,  above  the  breast  of 
the  dead  man  !' 

4  Wonderful  Providence  !'  ejaculated  his 
sole  auditor. 

'  Wonderful,  indeed — for  quickly  I  saw, 
thnt  beneath  that  covering  the  dead'body  could 


lay  undiscovered,  so  long  as  that  covering  re« 
mained.  The  corpse  was  completely  hidden 
from  view,  the  storm  was  the  heaviest  of  the 
winter,  the  weather  each  hour  acquiring  a 
colder  temperature,  and  the  snow  was  on  the 
increase.  1  felt  that,  for  the  time  being,  I  was 
safe,  and  thus  assured,  I  hastened  away.  The 
next  night  I  returned  to- the  spot — • — ' 
4  Returned  !'  echoed  the  eager  listener. 
•  Yes,  clearest,  I  returned,  at  midnight,  to 
examine  for  myself.  The  result  was  all  that 
I  could  wish.  The  snow  lay  in  heavy  drifts 
over  the  hidden  corpse,  and,  since  the  pre 
ceding  night,  had  slightly  hardened.  Deter 
mined  to  inspect  the  appearance  of  the  body, 
with  my  hands  I  dug  aside  the  snow,  and  when 
the  object  I  sought  lay  exposed  to  view  once 
more,  I  at  once  perceived  that  its  strange  im 
mersion  had  not  only  had  the  effect  of  preser 
ving  the  lifeless  remains,  but  had  caused  the 
blood  to  congeal,  and  the  wounds  to  close  and 
cicatrize,  so  as  nearly  to  destroy  all  appear 
ance  of  a  sanguinary  death.  It  was  the  result 
of  excessive  cold  and  seclusion  from  the  air , 
I  could  easily  account  for  the  phenomenon  on 
philosophic  principles. 

At  this  juncture  the  narrator  paused  an  in 
stant,  but  only  to  resume  again, — 

4  Cautiously  I  covered  up  once  more  the 
body,  replacing  the  snow  I  had  removed,  but 
before  I  did  so,  I  was  destined  to  make  one 
more  discovery.  In  the  waistcoat-pocket  of 
the  dead  man,  I  accidentally  found  a  slip  of 
paper,  on  which,  drawn  up  in  the  form  of  a 
contract,  was  an  agreement  with  John  Vernon 
in  substance  amounting  to  this, — that  for  a 
certain  service  at  date  performed,  the  bearer 
should  be  entitled  to  five  hundred  dollars,  or 
to  such  a  sum  as  sould  be  found  sufficient  to 
defray  the  expenses  of  an  outfit  and  voyage  to 
California.' 

4  Ha  !  was  this  the  bribe  ?' 

4  This  was  the  bribe  !'  replied  Vernon,  to 
her  abrupt  question.  Struck  by  this  singular 
condition,  as  the  price  of  such  an  act,  I  ex 
amined  more  closely  the  person  of  the  dead 
man ' 

'  Well,  Henry,  the  result?'  eagerly  inter 
rupted  Ellen. 

4  He  did  not  seem,  by  that  survey,  to  be  a 
common  ruffian  ;  on  the  contrary,  his  appear 
ance  was  not  that  of  a  hardened  desperado  : 
I  called  to  mind  the  unskillfulness  of  the  at 
tempted  assassination,  which  I  had  so  easily 
baffled  ;  and  now  I  remember,  also,  that  the 


KIT  CARSON. 


41 


dying  man's  confession,  broken  though  it  was, 
was  couched  in  better  language  than  was  na 
tural  to  a  mere  ruffian,  and  with  all  those 
things  before  my  eyes,  I  could  not  but  con 
ceive  the  case  of  some  weak  man  who,  bereft 
of  judgment  and^reason  by  the  dazzling  pros 
pect  of  the  golden  treasures  which  have  set 
half  the  world  delirious,  in  an  evil  hour  was 
tempted  to  hazard  the  first  great  crime  of 
vacillating  honesty,  and  madly  seek,  through 
human  blood,  to  win  the  goal.' 

4  Fearful,  how  fearful,  then,'  uttered  Ellen, 
1  is  the  double  responsibility  that  rests  upon 
your  uncle  !' 

4  True,  true  ;  such,  too,  has  been  my  own 
thought.  In  the  meantime,  all  my  .arrange 
ments  for  immediate  departure  had  been  per 
fected  :  for,  notwithstanding  forture  thus  fa 
vored  me,  I  was  well  aware  that  the  first  dis 
appearance  of  the  snow  would  reveal  its 
secret,  and  I  knew  that  no  time  was  be  lost ; 
flight  was  my  only  surety  for  safety,  and  all 
was  prepared  to ' 

4  Embark  for  California — was  it  not  so  ?' 

'It  was  Ellen,  you  now  know  the  true  rea 
son  of  the  step  I  have  taken,  and  you  alone  ; 
to  you,  as  the  sister  of  him  who,  in  the  first 
instance  saved  me  from  my  uncle's  malignity, 
this  explanation  was  due,  more  than  to  all 
others,  save  Eugene  himself.  Will  you  be 
lieve  it,  dear  girl  ? — when  on  the  wharf  I  heard 
those  ominous  words  of  the  officer.  4  In  the 
name  of  the  law!'  at  once,  across  my  mind 
flashed  the  terrible  suspicion  that  it  was  my 
self  the  police  had  come  to  arrest,  and  for  the 
murder  of  the  rioter,  by  some  means  dis 
covered.' 

'  I  saw  you  start ;  I  noticed  your  agitation, 
as  I  stood  near  you,  the  supposed  boy  who 
lingered  at  your  side.' 

4  Indeed  I  I  knew  not  that  it  was  so  marked 
— Heaven  pardon  John  Vernon  for  the  misery 
he  has  caused.' 

4  Heaven  pardon  him,  indeed  !  So  cruel! 
so  relentless  !  so  wicked !  and  yet,  so  aged 
and  venerable !' 

And  for  a  second  time  she  shuddered  at  the 
thought  of  him. 

Vernon  groaned  bitterly,  as  he  echoed  her 
fervent  adjuration,  and  the  dark  flush  of  anger 
rose  fiercely  to  his  cheek,  but  he  immediately 
checked  the  thought,  ere  uttered,  saying, — 

'  No,  no ;  I  will  not  curse  him  ;  he  is  my 
father's  brother,  and  more  than  this,  J  must  not 
forget  that  he  is 


4  What,  Harry,  what  ?  why  do  you  pause  ? 
demanded  Ellen,  quickly. 

4  Deranged  ;  that  he  is  deranged,  at  least, 
in  a  measure  so.' 

'  Deranged  ! — that  will  account  for  that 
strange  wildness  in  his  eye.  I  half  suspected 
it ;  and,  indeed,  indeed,  it  must  be  so  !'  ex 
claimed  the  ingenuous  creature,  4  for  never, 
in  his  right  senses,  could  one  so  old,  so  near 
tho  grave,  be  guilty  of  such  wickedness.' 

4  In  one  sense  you  are  right.  Deranged  in 
mind  he  is,  but  only  so  in  one  particular  way, 
— where  avarice,  cupidity,  covetousness,  is 
concerned.  In  every  other  light  he's  rational. 
In. this,  he  is  little  short  of  a  madman.  Still 
he  is  not  insane,  strictly  speaking.' 

4 1  understand — a  miser's  monomania,'  said 
Ellen. 

4  Right,  dearest,  right !  To  prove  it,  I  will 
give 'you,  in  a  few  words,  that  old  man's  his 
tory.  As  a  boy  he  was  penurious  and  grasp 
ing  ;  as  a  man  he  is  the  very  incarnation  of 
avarice.  A  greater  miser  than  John  Vernon 
never  lived,  though  everywhere  you  may  find 
his  like.  His  whole  existence,  his  youth,  his 
manhood,  his  married  life,  all  are  so  many 
evidences  of  it ' 

4  His  -married  life  ?' 

4  You  look  surprised — yes,  he  once  was 
married,  miser  as  he  is.  But  not  from  love, 
O  no ;  gold,  gold,  gold,  has  ever  been  his  only 
love.  Avarice  it  was  in  this  as  in  every  thing 
else  that  prompted  him.  He  married  a  for 
tune --no  other  consideration  would  ever  have 
induced  a  man  like  him  to  burden  himself  with 
the  expenses  of  a  family.  His  young  and  hand 
some  wife ' 

'  Young  and  handsome,  rich  and  beautiful,' 
interposed  Ellen,  *  and  yet  throw  herself  away 
upon  a  sordid  husband  ?' 

'  It  was,  alas,  one  of  those  mercenary  match 
es  so  frequent  among  the  richer  class  of  socie 
ty, — mercenary,  not  jn  her,  but  in  the  heartless 
parents  who  drove  their  daughter  to  the  step 
that  ruined  her  happiness  ;  for  John  Vernon, 
though  notoriously  a  penurious  and  covetous 
man,  was  known,  as  well,  to  be  the  possessor 
of  great  wealth,  greater  even,  it  is  supposed, 
than  that  of  his  brother,  my  own  father.  Yet, 
as  if  a  judgment  upon  them  for  their  cruelty, 
all  their  selfish  expectations  of  benefit  from  the 
alliance,  were  doomed  to  disappointment. 

4  John  Vernon,  by  constant  importunity  and 
menaces,  gradually  induced  his  too  yielding 
wife  to  sign  away,  piecemeal,  her  rights  to 


KIT  CARSON. 


property  after  property,  till  all  was  at  his  own 
control ;  and  then,  when  she  no  longer  had 
legal  command  of  any  part  of  her  dowry,  he 
suddenly  threw  off  the  mask,  and  the  miser 
stood  forth  revealed  in  his  most  repulsive  col 
ors.  From  a  splendid  home  he  removed  her 
lo  a  comparative  hovel,  curtailed  almost  every 
expense,  and  denied  her  the  very  necessities 
of  life !  Nay,  more  ;  he  doomed  her  to  the 
veriest  drudgery — yes,  compelled  her,  the 
ihild  of  luxury  and  affluence,  to  perform  the 
most  degrading  offices ;  he  made  her  his  slave.' 

1  Horrible  !'  exclaimed  Ellen. 

'  Horrible,  indeed  ;  her's  from  that  day  was 
the  life  of  a  miser's  wtfe.  Food  and  clothes 
save  in  the  scantiest,  most  beggarly  pittances 
were  refused  to  the  wretched  wife  and  to  her 
suffering  children,  for  two  poor  innocents  had 
the  misfortune  to  call  John  Vernon  father. — 
For  years  she  struggled  on,  patfently,  resign 
edly,  uncomplainingly,  but  when  she  saw  her 
children  growing  up  without  society,  without 
the  commonest  advantages  of  education, 
doomed  to  poverty  in  the  midst  of  their  fa 
ther's  hoarded  gains,  she  could  endure  it  no 
longer:  and,  after  vain  and  long  remonstran 
ces,  a  mother's  harrowed  feeling  forced  her  to 
that  final  step  which  a  wife's  duty  had  so  long 
restrained  her  from. 

4  With  her  two  children  that  wife  and  mo 
ther  fled  from  the  unfeeling  father  !  Whither 
she  had  gone  he  knew  not,  he  only  knew  that 
in  flight  she  sought  refuge.  Long  he  sought 
but  found  no  trace  of  her  or  of  her  children. 
For  months  she  evaded  all  search,  supporting 
herself  and  them,  in  the  meantime,  by  her 
own  industry.  But  the  heartless  miser  had 
found  her  necessary  to  her  comfort ;  he  missed 
his  hapless  drudge  ;  he  determined  to  recover 
her,  if  possible. 

4  At  the  end,  of  a  twelvemonth,  however,  he 
succeeded,  at  length,  in  discovering  his  wife.' 

4  Discovered  her  !'  with  an  thrill  of  alarm, 
iterated  Ellen. 

'  Found  and  took  her,  with  her  poor,  help 
less,  children,  back  from  their  humble  but 
peaceful  life,  to  his  hovel  he  removed  them. 
The  same  menial  duties,  the  same  beggar's 
fare,  the  same  bitter  cup  of  misery  and  deg 
radation,  once  more  were  her's,;  an 4  now,  as 
if  to  heap  up  the  measure  of  her  woe,  he 
would  have  bound  her  young  children  to  the 
lowest  occupations,  to  swell  an  unnaturl  pa 
rent's  hoarded  wealth.  A  despairing  resigna 
tion  to  her  lot,  had  come  gradually  over  her ; 


but  this  once,  a  mother's  apprehensions  and  a 
mother's  energies.  She  watched  her  oppor 
tunity  and  escaped ' 

4  Again  escaped  ! — thank  God  !'  uttered  the 
girl,  fervently. 

4  You  have  not  heard  all.  This  time  the 
fugitives  eluded  their  pursuer,  completely — 
Their  former  place  of  refuge  had  evidently 
been  exchanged  for  some  new  and  more  se 
cure  retreat — and  in  vain  did  he  visit  the  first, 
in  vain  did  he  seek  for  the-  faintest  sign  of  the 
last.' 

4  Heaven  be  praised  for  that  P  exclaimed 
Ellen. 

4  Years  passed  on,  and  still  their  second  hid 
ing  place  was  as  far  from  discovery  as  ever. — 
Six  of  those  years  had  elapsed,  and  nearly  alt 
hope  of  detecting  her  concealment  had  been 
surrendered,  even  bv  the  miser ;  when,  one 
day,  by  mere  accident,  his  fugitive  wife  he 
unexpectedly  met,  face  to  face,  in  the  great 
city !' 

4  Hew  horrible — how  unfortunate  !'  ejacu 
lated  the  listener. 

4  She  would  have  fled  in  horror  from  the 
wretch's  presence,  but  the  stern  husband  sum 
moned  to  his  aid  the  strong  arm  of  the  law,  to 
compel  her  to  return  to  his  hateful  home. — 
But  though  once  more  in  his  dreaded  power, 
the  noble  mother  resolutely  refused  to  reveal 
the  retreat  of  her  children,  who  still  remained 
concealed.  He  had  treated  her  with  brutality 
and  heartlessness  before,  but  now  she  had  to 
endure  the  most  galling  tyranny  and  cruelty 
that  vengeful  malignity  could  inflict ;  yet 
nothing  could  force  her  to  betray  the  secret  so 
vital  to  her  children's  welfare.  He  daily  in 
creased  the  rigor  of  his  treatment.  He  con 
fined  her  to  her  chamber,  denied  her  food, 
save  barely  snfficient  to  sustain  life,  and  with 
every  imaginable  hardship  brought  to  bear  up 
on  his  infernal  scheme,  sought  literally  to 
starve  her  to  his  purpose.  But  little  knew  the 
stony-hearted  miser  the  strength  and  power  of 
a  mother's  devotion  to  her  offspring ;  mater 
nal  resolution  lasted  even  when  reason  fell — 
for  fall  it  did,  at  length,  beneath  her  madden 
ing  miseries,  and  the  persecuted  wife  of  John 
Vernon  became  a  maniac.' 

4  A  maniac  !— O  God  P 

4  A  raging  maniac  she  became  ;  but  with 
insanity's  wild  delirium  came  also  the  strange 
strength  and  cunning  of  madness,  so  peculiar 
ly  its  own.  Yet  her  violence  seemed  directed 
rather  against  herself  than  against  others  ;  a 


KIT    CARSON. 


43 


settled  resolution  to  work  her  self-destruction. 
One  fatal  night,  when  her  miser  husband,  now 
horror  struck  at  the  fearful  result  of  his  fiend 
ish  persecution,  had  visited  her  in  her  confine 
ment,  she  seized  the  opportunity  to  precipitate 
herself  upon  him,  and  by  means  of  insanity's 
mysterious  power,  hurling  him,  like  an  infant, 
from  her  way,  the  mad  woman  rushed  from 
house,  leaving  him  prostrate  behind  her  flying 
feet,  and  then,  then ' 

*  What  then,  Henry  ?  What  new  horror  ? 
— speak ! 

4  The  escaped  maniac  fled,  while  the  now 
appalled  miser  followed  fast  upon  her  heels, 
straining  each  nerve  and  sinew  to  overtake 
the  fugitive. 

4  On,  on  !  the  flying  form  had  gained  Charles, 
ton  Bridge ;  the  husband  pressed  forward, 
through  the  silent  city,  for  it  was  dark  night, 
to  overtake  those  swiftly-speeding  steps — but 
there  upon  the  bridge  they  paused,  and  the 
maniac  was  seen  to  spring  high  upon  a  tower 
ing  buttress  of  the  grand  old  pile  that  spanned 
the  river  beneath.  She  turned, — a  cry  of  ter 
rible  anticipation,  a  phrensied  shout  to  desist, 
broke  from  the  miser's  lips.  She  turned  and 
waved  her  hand  in  maniac  mockery  ;  there 
was  one  glimpso  of  floating  drapery,  one 
glimpse  of  a  leaping  form,  then  the  vanishing 
of  both,  and  then,  ah  then,  the  sullen  plash  of 
waters  far  below  I 

'  At  that  very  moment,  at  the  very  instant 
of  the  fatal  leap,  the  panting  pursuer  gained 
the  parapet,  to  fine  it  vacant.  One  pause  of 
thrilling  horror,  one  convulsive  gasp  for  his 
breath,  and  he  dashed  from  the  buttress  and 
the  bridge,  and  descending  the  latter,  by  one 
rapid  succession  of  lion-like  leaps  he  gained 
the  river  side  below — a  dread,  a  horrid  scene 
before  him. 

4  There,  beneath  the  spreading  arch  of  old 
Charlestown  Bridge,  within  its  dark  shadows, 
terror-stricken  he  saw  the  body  of  his  maniac 
wife,  a  corpse  already. 

4  He  was  riot  the  sole  spectator,  for  on  the 
hushed  deck  of  an  adjoining  river  craft,  close 
in  shore,  not  five  yards  from  the  wave-drifting 
corpse,  the  light  from  his  lantern  in  its  wild 
glare  illuminating  the  g-hastly  profile  of  the 
up-turned  face,  stood,  in  his  heavy  seaman's 
night  cloak,  the  dark  figure  of  the  solitary 
watch  of  the  anchored  bark,  transfixed  by  so 
frightful  a  spectacle  in  the  very  attitude  of 
discovery ;  while  over  the  startling  scene, 
over  the  floating  corpse  of  the  drowned  wo 


man,  over  the  horrified  and  convulsed  limbs 
of  the  suicide's  husband  upon  the  shore,  the 
light  from  the  vessel  shone  dazzlingly  ;  it  wa3 
too  late — in  self-destruction  the  maniac  wife 
had  found  refuge  from  her  horrible  suffer 
ings.' 

4  No  more,  Henry  !'  exclaimed  Ellen ;  '  I 
can  bear  no  more.' 

4  Little  more  is  known !  Such  was  the  fate 
of  John  Vernon's  wife  ;  such  the  consequen 
ces  of  a  mercenary  marriage.  For  a  while, 
even  his  callous  heart  was  startled  from  its 
sordid  infatuation  ;  but  the  ruling  passion  was 
not  even  thus  to  be  conquered,  and  he  is 
the  same  covetous  slave  of  avarice,  the 
same  relentless  miser  that  he  ever  was — 
yet,  fiend  as  he  appears,  I  religiously  be 
lieve  he's  as  much  to  be  pitied  as  execra 
ted  ;  it  is  a  species  of  fearful  madness  that 
resistlessly  impels  him  onward  to  the  con 
tinual  gratification  of  the  demon  of  cupidity 
— it  is  incurable.' 

4  Dreadful  vice,  dreadful  passion.  But  the 
children,  Henry — what  became  of  the  poor 
children  ?' 

4  Nothing  is  known  of  them.' 

4  NOTHING,  Henry  ?' 

4  Nothing !  But  it  is  probable  that  the  ill- 
fated  mother  left  them  in  a  place  of  secur 
ity.  This  is  inferred  from  her  long  and  de 
termined  silence  with  regard  to  them.  The 
positive  fate  of  my  poor  cousins,  however, 
is  left  in  as  much  mystery  as  that  which 
shrouds  a  brother's  in  my  own  family.' 

4  How !  have  you  a  brother  ?' 

4  Could  my  father  have  withheld  the  know 
ledge  from  me,  I  should  never  have  been 
aware  of  a  fact  which,  for  some  mysterious 
reasons, he  has  ever  shown  the  most  inexpli 
cable  desire  to  keep  a  secret  from  me  and 
every  one  else,  as  if  there  were  some  dread 
ful  necessity  for  it.' 

The  young  girl  looked  with  anxious  inter 
est  up  into  his  face,  as  she  said, — 4  My  dear 
Henry,  this  is  news  to  your  Ellen.' 

4  It  is — it  was  so  to  your  brother  before 
you  ;  nor  should  I  now  have  spoken  of  it, 
but  that  circumstances  I  need  not  mention, 
have  induced  my  father  to  place  in  me  at 
last,  that  confidence  he  has  so  long  and  so 
mysteriously  withheld  ;  though  with  the  sin 
gular  condition  that  the  written  revelation 
he  has  given  me  shall  not  be  opened  or  its 
content  examined,  till  I  shall  have  been  ten 
days  at  sea.  Nine  of  the  ten ' 


44 


KIT  CARSON. 


*  Have  already  elapsed,'  suggested  his  com 
panion. 

*  You  are  right,  Ellen  ;  to-morrow  I  shall  be 
at  liberty  to  break  the  seal  of  the  packet  en 
trusted  to  my  care.     But  come,  in  the  excite 
ment  of  this  night's   discovery,  we   have   for 
gotten  the    lapse    of  time.     To  supper  now  ; 
on  the  morrow  I  will  seek  a  meeting  with  this 
uncle,  whom  I  unexpectedly  find  the  compan 
ion  of  our  voyage  :  Heavens  !  that  his  niggard 
parsimony  should   have  voluntarily  degraded 
my  father's  brother  to  the  rank  of  a  steerage 
passenger.      But  we  must  hasten,  dear  Ellen, 
or   the  tea-table     will    deserted.      See !    the 
passengers  are  already  returning  to  the  deck.' 

Arm  in  arm  the  handsome  young  student 
and  the  seeming  boy  descended  to  the  cabin 
to  partake  of  the  meal  from  which  their  unex 
pected  encounter  with  the  miser  had  so  long 
detained  them. 

Scarcely  had  they  disappeared  below  the 
companionway,  when,  slowly  rising  up  from 
beneath  the  shadows  of  the  steerage  bulwarks, 
under  wnose  dark  concealment  he  had  slunk 
at  the  outset,  unnoticed,  the  ungainly  and 
time-warped  form  of  John  Vernon  hobbled 
again  into  the  light ! 

4  Ha  !  ha  !'  laughed  the  eaves-dropper. — 
'  The  fools  !  to  think  the  old  man  heard  them 
not  ! — heard  all  !  So  ho  I  to-morrow  the  pack 
et  is  to  be  open,  the  secret  revealed  ?  Of  that 
packet  John  Vernon  must  gain  possession  !  it 
must  not,  it  shall  not  be  read  !  To-night  it 
must  be  done,  if  at  all.  The  miser  will  yet 
outwit  them  !  outwit  them  all !  he  !  he  !' 

CHAPTER  VII. 


The  Portrait  of  Kit  Carson,— The  Eve  of  the 
'  Tenth  Day  out— The  Theft  of  the  Secret  Pack 
et. 

4  What  deed  of  darkness  wild  is  this  ?— 
Ah!  more,  I  fear,  of  woe  than  bliss-' 

SHELI.EY. 


COMMENCED,  already,  was  the  night  of  the 
good  ship's  ninth  day  at  sea.  The  short,  heavy 
swells  of  the  Gulf  stream  were  rocking  to 
sleep,  in  their  berths  below,  the  host  of  passen 
gers. 

Among  the  last  to  retire  to  their  respective 
state-rooms,  were  the  young  collegian  and  his 
supposed  strippling  friend,  our  heroine  ;  but  at 
length  even  the  latest  lingerer  had  descended 
to  his  rest,  and  the  dusky  forms  of  the  helms 


man  and  the  night-watch,  remained  the  deck's 
exclusive  tenants. 

But  to  a  late  hour  in  his  solitary  state-room 
sat  he  who  claims  the  rank  of  hero  in  this  true 
narrative.  Upon  the  table  before  him  a  -si^ed 
and  wafered  parcel  lay.  It  was  the  packet 
regarded  with  such  natural  interest  by  Henry 
Vernon. 

Attentively  he  had  been  viewing  it  for  some 
time,  and  more  than  once  he  had  taken  it  in 
his  hand  and  half  resolved  to  break  'open  the 
seal. 

What  difference  could  it  possibly  make 
whether  he  was  made  acquainted,  one  day 
sooner  or  later,  with  its  contents  ?  repeatedly 
he  asked  himself,  as  he  recalled  with  impa 
tience  the  stipulation  that  ten  days  must  elapse 
subsequent  to  departure  ere  its  secresy  was  to 
be  invaded. 

While  thus  he  gazed  upon  it  with  tantaliz 
ing  sensations,  the  packet  became  accidental 
ly  crushed  between  his  nervous  fingers,  and 
as  he  held  the  crumpled  paper  up  to  the  light, 
his  eye  was  involuntarily  caught  by  a  small 
portion  of  the  hidden  writing  under  the  parch 
ment  envelope  ;  but  before  his  glance  could 
take  in  its  meaning,  some  hard,  square  object 
within  seemed  to  dislodge  itself  from  its  pre 
vious  confinement  and  slipped  down  over  the 
half-legible  words,  covering '  and  rendering 
them  unintelligible. 

In  trying  to  displace  this  obstacle  to  their 
perusal,  Henry  slightly  took  the  packet,  in  do 
ing  which  the  enclosure  in  question,  by  the 
force  of  its  own  gravity,  rent  the  envelope, 
and  fully  separating  itself,  felt  upon  the  table. 

It  was  a  small  painting,  executed  evidently 
by  an  amateur's  hand,  but  skilfully  represent 
ing,  in  the  foregroound,  a  man  on  horseback, 
in  the  dress  of  a  western  hunter,  equipped  like 
a  trapper  of  the  prairies  ;  his  tall  and  strongly 
knit  frame  drawn  up,  erect  and  lithe  as  the 
pine  tree  of  his  own  forests  ;  his  broaa,  sun 
burnt  face  developing  a  countenance,  on  which 
a  life  of  danger  and  hardship  had  set  its 
weather-beaten  seal,  and  placed  in  boldest  re 
lief  the  unerring  signs  of  a  nature  which  for 
reckles  daring  and  most  indomitable  hardi 
hood,  could  know  scarce  a  human  superior. 

Far  in  the  background  of  the  painting,  roll- 
ed  the  waving  grass  of  a  boundless  prairie  ; 
amid  the  silent  widerness  of  which,  towered 
the  noble  figure  of  the  hunter-horseman,  half 
Indian,  half  whiteman  in  appearance,  with 
rifle,  horse  and 'dog  for  his  sole  companions, 


KIT  CARSON. 


45 


in  all  that  dreary  waste  ;  though  to  the  right  a 
yelling  pack  of  wolves  were  seen  upon  his 
track,  and  on  his  left  the  thick,  black  srnoke, 
in  curling  wreathes,  proclaimed  the  prairie 
fire,  while  in  the  clear,  gray  eye  that  looked 
from  the  thrilling  picture  forth,  there  seemed 
to  glance  a  look  of  proud  indifference  to  all, 
and  the  conscious  confidence  of  ennobling  self 
reliance  ! 

And  while,  in  enraptured  admiration  over 
that  spirit  stirring  picture  of  manly  daring, 
young  Vernon  gazed,  he  saw,  with  a  thrill  or 
enthusiasm,  t'ie  title  the  painting  bore, — 

KIT  CARSON, 
THE  PRIDE  OF  THE  PRAIRIE. 
And  still,  beneath  the  inscription  that  gave 
to  it  a  name,  he  saw  added,  these  words  ;  in 
his  father's  well  known  hand, — 

'  The  only  living  man  to  whom  Henry 
Vernon  can  ever  look  for  the  final  key  to  the 
secret  of  which  this  packet  is  a  clue.' 

The  painting  fell  from  the  astonished  youth's 
hands.  Spellbound  and  speechless  he  stood 
and  glared  on  it. 

*  Kit  Carson  !  Kit  Carson  !'  he  echoed,  be 
wildered  ;  '  that  is  the  name  of  the  famous 
hunter  and  adventurer  of  the  Great  West,  the 
hardy  explorer  of  the  trackless  wilderness, 
the  daring  guide  and  leader  of  Freemont's 
celebrated  expedition — Kit  Carson  !  the  hero 
of  prairie  and  forest,  the  prince  of  backwoods 
men  ;  he  whose  name  is  as  familiar  a  word, 
almost,  as  that  of  old  Rough  and  Ready  him 
self,  and  as  famous  for  gallant  ex-ploits  in 
the  fnr  west,  as  the  dauntless  Ropers  who  led 
tho  Secret  Service  in  San  Juan  D'Ulloa  ? 

4  Yes,  it  is  the  same  ;  and  yet,  what  con 
nexion  can  there  be  between  rny  father's  se 
cret  and  this  wild  rover  of  the  frontier  ?  By 
what  strange  vagaries  can  Fate  have  mixed 
up  with  a  man  whose  home  and  world  is  the 
pathless  wilderness,  the  destinies  of  a  Boston 
aristocrat.  Ha !  this  plot  seems  to  thicken 
fast! 

'  This  man — does  my  strange  father  wish 
me  ever  to  meet  him  r  Once  at  my  voyage's 
end,  I  am  likely  to  do  so.  He  was  on  the 
Pacific  coast,  if  I  mistake  not,  at  the  last  ac 
counts,  in  the  heart  of  the  gold  region,  I  be 
lieve  ;  nay,  it  is  even  said  that  this  same  Kit 
Carson  was  the  original  discoverer  of  the 
principal  gold-placer  ;  if  so,  I  shall,  in  all  pro 
bability,  fall  in  with  him.  But  did  my  father 
anticipate  this?  was  this  his  motive  in  admit 
ting  me  a  party  to  this  secret,  that  in  the  wilds 


of  California  I  might  meet  the  being  whom  in« 
explicable  destiny  has  involved  in  our  family 
affairs  ?  The  packet  will  explain — shall  I  now 
open  it  ?' 

A  keen  edge  had  been  given  to  his  curi 
osity,  now  at  its  highest,  and  he  felt  as  if  it 
must  be  gratified. 

It  seemed  to  him  a  foolish  scruple,  a  useless 
'delay  of  twenty-four  hours,  but  he  remember 
ed  the  imperative  injunction  ;  and  his  honor 
pledged  to  its  faithful  observance.  She  had 
been  the  condition  of  the  secret's  revelation  ; 
the  least  he  could  do  was  to  requite  the  con 
fidence  reposed  in  him,  by  proving  himself 
worthy  of  it. 

Thus  he  argued  and  thus  he  acted,  despite 
his  increased  curiosity. 

Undressing  himself,  he  extinguished  the 
light  and  climbed  into  his  narjrow  berth  ;  after 
placing  in  his  bosom  the  important  packet ;  for 
so  constantly  had  it  been  the  burden  of  his 
thoughts,  and  so  watchful  was  he  of  its  se 
curity,  that-  he  had,  from  the  first,  worn  it  next 
his  heart. 

Previous  to  this,  however,  the  hunter's  por 
trait  was  replaced  in  the  envelope,  and  the 
whole  secured  as  before. 

Still,  in  his  sea-rocked  couch  he  passed 
several  wakeful  hours.  He  felt  uneasy,  and 
the  wherefore  he  knew  not,  a  singular  inquie 
tude  had  come  over  him,  and  sleeplessness 
was,  of  course,  long  its  companion.  While 
as  the  restless  moments  wore  on,  they  did  not 
appear  to  bring  any  amelioration  of  his  dis 
turbed  state  of  mind. 

'  Something  seems  to  whisper  me,'  more 
than  once  he  found  himself  half-unconsciously 
muttering,  '  something  s.eems  to  whisper  me, 
to  read  that  mysterious  packet  this  very  night !' 
And  he  hesitated,  appearing  once  more  to 
debate  the  question  within  himself. 

'  Shall  I  rise  and  penetrate  its  contents  ?  A 
presentiment  of,  I  know  not  what,  draws  me 
to  this  course — or,  shall  I  wait  patiently  until 
the  morrow  ?  Shall  I  delay  it  till  then  ?  what 
could  possibly  occur  in  that  time  ? — Tush  !' 
he  muttered,  '  presentiments  are  but  idle 
things  !  I  will  silence  this  folly,  and  go  to 
sleep.' 

Nevertheless  it  was  some  time  before  he 
could  so  far  control  his  own  miud. 

He  had  slept  perhaps  an  hour  or  more, 
when  a  shambling  sort  of  step  was  just  audi 
ble  without,  and  an  unsteady  hand  seem  to  try 
the  door  of  the  state-room.  It  had  been  left 


'*        «!.» 

46 


KIT  CARSON. 


unlocked  by  Hen  ry,  with  the  unsuspecting 
heedlessness  of  youth,  and  there  was  no  ob 
stacle  to  its  opening. 

Slowly  and  carefully  the  latch  was  lifted  ; 
pitchy  darkness  had  taken  the  place  of  the 
extinguished  light,  and  Vernon  slumbered 
soundly,  and  no  heed  took  his  sleep-deafened 
ear  of  the  footstep  outside  the  door,  the  care 
ful  finger  laid  upon  the  latch,  its  slow  and 
cautious  lifting,  and  then  the  yet  more  stealthy 
tread,  advancing  slowly  and  unsteadily,  as  if 
retarded  by  the  surrounding  gloom,  or  impe 
ded  by  some  other  cause. 

Hardly,  however,  had  that  hushed  foot  left 
the  threshold  a  half  yard  behind,  when  a  sud 
den  and  heavy  gust  of  wind  swept  down  the 
companionway,  and  retiring  again,  closed  with 
a  sharp  clatter  the  door  of  the  state-room,  in 
its  retreating  swoop. 

But  its  noise  did  not  break  the  slumbers  of 
the  unsuspicious  sleeper. 

There  was  the  pause  of  another  moment,  as 
if  to  ensure  certainty  ;  then  the  unknown  foot 
was  moved  again,  this  time  more  hurriedly. 
It  took  three  steps  forward — than  the  sound  of 
a  heavy  fall  followed. 

In  the  darkness  the  intruder  had  stumbled 
and  fallen  over  a  chair !  With  a  loud  crash 
it  fell  beneath  the  weight,  and  was  broken  on 
the  floor  of  the  state-room. 

The  slumberer,  suddenly  aroused,  starred 
up ;  the  concussion  had  been  too  near,  too 
distinct,  not  to  awaken  him.  A  mumbled 
curse  had  been,  the  moment  before,  half  audi 
ble  ;  but  now,  all  was  silence  and  darkness. 

4  Ha  .'  that  crash !  it  must  have  been  one 
of  the  ship's  spars  snapping  in  a  passing  gust. 
And  ha  !  I  thought  I  heard  an  oath,  a  moan 
ing,  as  if  some  one  were  in  pain — 'twas  but 
the  watch  on  deck — or  some  one  struck  by  the 
falling  spar.' 

And  drowsily  the  rudely  awakened  Vernon 
sank  back  upon  his  pillow,  a  sleeper  once 
more. 

It  was  not  until  the  strong  and  regular 
breathing  from  the  slumberer's  berth  pro 
claimed  his  calm  relapse  into  somnolence, 
that  there  was  a  distinct  sound  in  the  dark 
ness  of  the  state-room. 

The  next  noise  that  invaded  the  sudden  si 
lence,  was  like  the  rubbing  produced  by  a 
crawling  body.  It  ceased,  and  was  succeeded 
by  a  seeming  scratching  against  the  wall — as 
instantly  itself  followed  by  a  sudden  flash  of 
light  through  the  cabin,  that  lived  but  for  a 


moment,  and  then,  like  the  bright  ephemera, 
died. 

It  was  the  lighting  of  a  match,  but  that 
phosphorescent  gleam,  as  it  shot  through  the 
gloom,  had  sufficed,  in  its  evanesceut  flight, 
to  show  to  the  intruder  the  position  of  the  re 
cumbent  sleeper. 

And  now,  with  an  eager  haste,  those  foot 
steps  shuffled  to  the  berth's  side,  and  the  luci- 
fer's  last  lingering  flash  of  light  shone  on  an 
upraised  arm  above  the  slumbering  student's 
breast !' 

There  was  a  rustling,  quivering  sound  from 
the  berth,  differing  from  any  preceding  one  ; 

a  shock — a  cry — a  dull  fall and  then  a 

chuckling  laugh  ! 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Ellen's  Secret  Discovery— The  Perilous  Passage  of 
Cape  Horn. 

4  Now  comes  the  tug  of  war.' 

'  The  hell  of  waters.' 

BYRON. 

BREAKFAST  hour  is  at  hand — the  long  night 
has  passed — and  Henry  Vernon  makes  not  his 
appearance.  Concluding  that  he  had  over 
slept  himself,  and  unwilling  that  his  rest  should 
be  disturbed,  the  thoughtful  Ellen  descended 
from  her  own-cabin,  with  the  earlier  risers,  to 
the  morning  meal. 

When  with  the  rest  of  the  party  she  return 
ed  to  the  deck,  to  enjoy  the  invigorating  fresh 
ness  of  a  morning  promenade,  she  was  sur 
prised  to  find  that  her  lover  had  not,  as  yet, 
joined  his  fellow  passengers. 

The  forenoon  passed  away,  an  impatient 
eye  looking  each  moment  for  the  deferred  ap 
pearance  of  the  absentee.  Two  o'clock  came 
at  length  ;  with  it,  the  dinner  hour — but  not 
Henry. 

Ellen  began  now  to  grow  anxious  and  alarm 
ed.  What  could  detain  him  thus.  She  could 
not  fly  to  his  state  room,  to  assure  herself  of 
his  safety,  her  woman's  delicacy  shrunk  from 
such  a  "step ;  yet  her  Henry  might  be  ill* 
might  be  suffering  in  neglect,  while  icy  pro 
priety  forbade  her  to  haste  to  his  aid  ;  for  love 
is  ever  apprehensive  of  it  scarce  knows  what. 

In  this  dilemma  her  eye  suddenly  fell  upon 
the  worthy  captain,  close  to  whom  she  stood. 


KIT  CARSON. 


47 


Her  glance  rested  upon  his  frank  and  gener 
ous  countenance,  and  its  look  of  hearty  bene 
volence  warmed  her  heart  afresh  toward  him; 
and  at  once  encouraged  her  to  boldly  address 
him,  with  her  earnest  request  that  some  per 
son  might  be  sent  to  Vernon's  cabin  to  ascer 
tain  the  cause  of  his  unusual  absence,  express 
ing  the  most  lively  fears  lest  he  should  be  un 
well,  or  some  accident  had  happened  to 
him. 

Instead  of  at  once  complying  with  her  de 
mand,  and,  as  she  expected,  instantly  acqui 
escing  in  the  expediency  of  the  suggestion, 
she  observed,  with  uneasiness,  that  the  manly 
seaman  stood  silently  and  gravely  surveying 
her. 

Her  quick  apprehension  caused  the  dis 
guised  girl,  with  an  instinctive  start,  to  turn 
upon  her  own  person  a  severe  self  scrutiny. 
Nothing  was  disarranged,  nothing  out  of  order 
in  her  boy's  dress,  and  yet  she  saw  the  old 
sailor  also  start,  and  a  smile  came  on  the 
veteran's  lip. 

4  Come  hither,  boy,'  he  at  length  said  ;  '  I 
would  speak  with  you.' 

4  Nay,  sir,  not  now  ;  some  other  time,'  re- 
•oined  she,  quickly  ;  4  my  friend  may  be  in 
distress,  while  I ' 

'  Then  fly  to  his  cabin,  my  boy,  and  satisfy 
yourself.' 

4 1 — I  dare  not — —-that  is,  I  cannot — no, 
no  ;  not  now !' 

And  the  color  rose  brightly  to  her  cheek 
and  deepened  on  her  faltering  lip. 

4  What !'  exclaimed  the  captain  :  4  not  go 
to  his  assistance  ?  you  who  should  be  the  first 
to  fly  to  your  friend's  aid.' 

4  I — I Oh,  do  not  ask  me,  sir  !  Indeed, 

indeed,  I  cannot.' 

4  How,  boy  !  and  do  you  call  yourself  a 
friend  ?'  asked  the  seaman,  with  apparent 
sternness. 

Ere  Ellen  could  frame  an  apology,  a  blast 
of  wind  came  suddenly  shrieking  through  the 
cordage  above  their  heads,  and  whistling  down 
upon  the  deck :  swept  more  than  one  unway 
passenger's  hat  from  his  head  to  bear  it  away 
upon  a  distant  wave,  and  among  them  was  the 
light,  boyish  cap  worn  by  our  heroine — and  as 
it  floated  off  to  seaward,  far  in  the  vessel's 
wake,  downward  fell,  glossy  masses  a  shower 
of  wavy  curls,  upon  the  shoulders  of  the  sup 
posed  stripling. 

4  Well,  boy,  follow  me,'  directed  the  cap 
tain  ;  and  when  both  were  below,  the  captain 


turned  and  fixed  upon  her  a  peculiar  smile,  as 
full  of  shrewd  significance  as  were  his  good- 
humored  tones  ;  as  he  said,  to  the  girl's  greai 
confusion, — 

4  Little  stammerer  !  and  do  you  think  that 
that  blushing  cheek  and  faltering  tongue,  do 
not  betray  your  secret !  Listen  and  mark  me 
well, — boy  though  you  seem,  no  boy  are 
you !' 

Disconcerted  past  all  bounds,  poor  Ellen 
was  speechless,  while  the  good  old  sailor  went 
on  to  say, — 

4  Poor  girl !  1  read  you  story.  That  young 
man,  whose  constant  companion  you  have 
been,  is  your  lover,  whom  you  have  followed 
in  this  disguise.  Nay  !  tremble  not,  nor  turn 
pale  f  old  Hiram  Allen  is  the  last  man  to  be 
tray  your  secret — and  a  pretty  little  secret  it 
is,  with  a  spice  of  genuine  romance  in  it.  But 
fear  me  not ;  I  have  discovered  you,  it  is  true; 
I  suspected,  from  the  first,  so  sweet  a  little 
craft  must  be  sailing  under  false  colors — but  I 
said  nothing ;  I  waited  for  proof  of  my  suspi 
cions — have  T  not  gained  it  ?' 

4  Proof!'  echoed  the  bewildered  girl,  me 
chanically  ;  4  how  did  you  detect  me — dis 
cover  all  this  ?' 

4  Easily,  young  lad^  ;  your  confusion,  your 
hesitation,  your  reluctance  to  enter  his  cabin, 
these  girlish  ringlets — how  very  plain  the 
signs  !' 

4  You  will  not,  O  sir  !  you  surely  will  not 
disclose  what  you  have  learned  !'  besought  the 
imploring  pleader.  4  Think  you,  noble  sir,' 
she  added,  in  alarm,  4  any  other,-  save  you, 
suspects  ?' 

4  No,  nor  shall  they  ;  you  are  safe  as  if  1, 
too,  knew  nothing  of  this.' 

And  then,  as  she  heard  him  murmur,  in  a 
thoughtful  way,  4  poor  dear  girl,  she  has  em 
barked  upon  a  hazardous  adventure  !'  she  felt 
as  she  looked  up  into  his  open,  benevolent 
countenance,  and  read  there  the  native  no 
bility  of  the  veteran's  'character,  she  felt  that 
she  had  found  a  friend  in  the  manly  seaman, 
in  whom  she  could  as  safely  confide  as  in  a 
father. 

The  next  moment  he  quickly  added, — 

4  But  for  the  present,  enough  of  this  !  To 
the  safety  of  this  young  man  I  must  now  see. 
He  must  be  a  noble  fellow  to  have  won  such 
love  as  yours,  lady — cir  4  boy,'  rather,  as  I 
must  still  call  you.' 

4  O  hasten !  hasten  to  him  !  noble,  generous 
man  !' 


48 


KIT  CARSOiN. 


*  This,  then,  be  my  excuse  for  leaving  you, 
dear  lady.' 

With  these  parting  words  the  gallant  sea 
man  hurried  from  her  side. 
N  Nor  was  he  long  gone  upon  his  errand. — 
Scarce  five  minutes  had  passed,  though  to  the 
suspense-filled  Ellen,  they  seemed  as  many 
hours,  ere  the  voice  of  the  skipper  was  heard 
calling,  from  decks,  to  his  mate  above, — 

'  Pass  the  word  for  Mr.  Davis.' 

'  Ay,  ay,  sir  !  Forward  there  ! — pass  the 
word  for  the  surgeon,  la  your  cabin,  Capt. 
Allen  ?' 

t  No,  s,ir  ;  in  state  room  No.  7.  Bid  him 
make  all  the  haste  possible.' 

'  Ay,  ay,  captain,' 

And  this  brie.f  professional  colloquy  between 
skipper  and  first  officer  was  scarce  finished 
when  the  surgeon  himself  answered  the  sum 
mons,  passing  the  terrified  girl  on  his  way. 

Ellen's  heart  was  in  her  mo*uth  ;  that  de 
mand  for  the  physician,  what  did  it  not  fore 
bode  ? 

Her  worst  fears,  all  too  soon,  were  realized. 
Ere  many  moments  more  had  dragged  their 
heavy  weight,  the"  suigeon  arid  the  captain, 
together,  reappeared,  bearing  between  them 
the  motionless  form  of  Henry  Vernon,  dress 
ed,  but  with  the  blood  streaming  ever  his 
clothes  and  dropping  to  the  floor ! 

With  a  shriek  and  a  gasp  like  the  broken 
cry  of  a  wounded  bird,  Ellen  Lfncoln  sprang 
to  her-  ill-fated  lover's  side  ;  there,  for  one  in 
stant  she  stood  appalled  and  motionless  as  his 
own  lifeless  frarrie,  at  the  ghastly  sight  she  be 
held. 

His  eyes  were  closed,  his  forehead  knit,  his 
hands  in  an  outstretched  attitude,  as  if  grasp 
ing  at  something  beyond  his  reach.  The  rich, 
dark  locks  above  his  clear  and  youthful  brow, 
were  literally  saturated  with  gore,  as  if  from 
some  spring  beneath  ;  while  down  that  sunny 
forehead,  slowly  there  trickled,  from  a  deep 
cut  above  the  jetty  lashes,  a  crimson  stream  of 
blood,  filling  the  eyes  and  matting  together  the 
closed  lids,  which  seemed  with  leaden  weight 
held  down  ;  and  from  sharp  scratches  upon 
the  cheeks,  scarlet  drops  were  faintly  oozing 
— all  indicative  of  some  recent  violence. 

4  Captain  !'  uttered  the  surgeon,  in  a  hushed 
whisper. 

In  silence  no  less  meaning  the  old  seaman 
turned  to  him.  Mute  inquiry  was  in  every  look. 

*  Captain  Allen,'  said  the  doctor,  4  this  is,  I 
fear, ' 


4  What,  O  what  ?  In  Heaven's  name,'  wild 
ly  ejaculated  Ellen,  breathless  interrupting 
him,  4  in  Heaven's  name  speak !  how  came 
he  thus — what  terrible  accident  has  befallen 
him  ?' 

The  physician,  in  some  surprise,  looked  from 
Ellen  to  the  captain,  and  from  the  captain  to 
Ellen,  who  heeded  not  the  veteran's  warning 
glance. 

The  latter  personage,  seeing  her  neglect  of 
caution,  hastened  to  speak  for  her, — 

''  This  young  boy  is  the  wounded  man's  on 
ly  brother — you  observe  his  alarm — explain  to 

him ' 

.  4  The  accident !'  again  she  interrupted,  how 
happened  it  ?' 

•  I  know  not,'  replied  the  surgeon,  gravely. 
'  I  only  know,  from  Captain  Allen,  that  he  dis 
covered  this  young  man  lying,  bleeding  and 
senseless,  upon  the  floor*  of  his  state  room, 
beneath  his  berth.' 

4  Yes,  'twas  there  I  found  him,  on  entering, 
with  these  marks  of  violence  upon  his  person, 
but  to  what  inexplicable  accident,  Davis,  could 
this ' 

4  'Tis  that  which  puzzles  me,'  rejoined  the 
surgeon,  who  had  taken  the  head  of  the  bleen- 
ing  youth  upon  his  knee,  and  was  attentively 
examining  its  injuries. 

'  This  is  a  sharp  cut  upon  the  forehead,  and 
seems  to  bleed  profusely,'  he  presently  obser 
ved  :  4it  is  merely  a  flesh-wound,  however, 
and  not  at  all  serious.  It  must  have  been 
made,  I  think,  in  falling  from  the  berth  above 
to  the  floor,  by  some  sharp  angle  ;  but  that 
fall  itself,'  he  added,  deliberatingly,  4  how  is 
that  to  be  accounted  for?'  and  he  paused 
again.' 

4  Stop  !'  he  continued,  abruptly  ;  4  how  this 
hair  is  matted  together  and  clotted  with  gore, 
just  above  the  brow.  The  blood  from  that  cut 
over  the  eyes  could  not  have  trickled  upward, 
thus — there  must  be  some  other  and  larger 
wound.  Ah  !  look  at  this  dreadful  contusion 
on  the  skull !' 

.  And  with  difficulty  parting  the  tangled  curls 
aside  from  the  crown  of  the  head,  he  laid  open 
to  view  a  ghastly  gash,  that  called  from  the 
gazing  Ellen  a  shudder  of  wild  affright. 

'  And  this,'  slowly  asked  Capt.  Allen,  '  is 
this  a  grave  injury  ?' 

4  It  is — the  skull,  if  I  mistake  not,  is  frac 
tured.' 

4  Fractured  !'  reiterated  Ellen,  in  terror  at 
the  word. 


KIT  CARSON, 


*  Fractured,  I  fear  me,'  went  on  the  doctor, 
with  great  gravity  ;  '  and  evidently,  by  some 
violent  blow ;  the  appearance  of  the  wound 
shows  clearly  that  it  must  have  been  of  a  blunt 
nature,  also.  But  how  was  it  occasioned  ?  that 
is  the  question.  Ha !  I  can  imagine  one 
method  in  which  it  could  have  originated.  I 
may  be  a  little  mistaken,  but,  at  all  events, 
come  once  vapffe  to  the  state  room,  and  we 
may  throw  £otne  light  upon  the  matter.  Cap 
tain,  it  will,  perhaps,  be  better  to  return  with 
the  unfortunate  young  gentleman,  also,  to  his 
state  room.' 

4  As  you  think  proper,  Mr.  Davis,'  replied 
the  captain. 

Once  more  taking  up  the  insensible  student, 
followed  by  Ellen,  who  forgot  all  scruples  in 
this  aggravation  .of  her  alarm,  they  retraced 
their  steps. 

The  floor  of  the  state  room,  directly  below 
the  berth,  was  one  'pool  of  blood.  Henry's 
berth  was  one  of  a  tier  of  three,  placed  one 
above  another,  and  in  one  of  the  others  the 
bleeding  Vernon  was  laid  ;  while  the  doctor 
advanced  to  that  which  had  been  occupied  by 
the  young  man,  and  proceeded  narrowly  to  in 
spect  its  interior. 

Almost  immediately  a  slight  ejaculation 
broke  from  the  surgeon,  who  at  once  directed 
the  attention  of  his  two  Icompanions  to  the 
superincumbent  ceiling  of  the  small,  confined 
berth,  at  the  top  of  which  was  seen  a  large 
spot  that,  on  a  closer  examination  proved  to  be 
clotted  gore  intermixed  with  human  hair.  A 
comparison  with  the  gash  in  Vernon's  head, 
made  it  to  tally  with  the  dimensions  of  the 
former. 

4  It  is  clear,'  said  the  surgeon,  with  a  sort 
of  professional  satisfaction  that  nearly  drove 
Ellen  deranged  outright,  '  I  see  now — the 
patient  must  have  attempted  to  leap  suddenly 
from  the  berth,  forgetful  of  the  nature  of  the 
place,  and  in  the  incautious  act,  his  head 
struck  with  the  greatest  violence  against  the 
heavy  wood-work,  scarce  two  feet  above  him 
inflicting  this  terrible  wound  upon  the  unpro 
tected  skull ;  the  shock  of  which,  no  doubt  it 
was,  that  caused  him  to  be  precipitated  from 
the  berth. 

Ellen  groaned. 

'  Are  you  certain  it  is  a  fracture,  doctor?' 
demanded  the  captain. 

4 1  am  confident  of  it ;  yet  the  skull  is  only 
slightly  penetrated.' 

4  What  will  be  the  consequence  ?' 


'  Congestion  of  the  brain.' 

4  And'the  finale  to  that  is — — ' 

4  DEATH  ! — ^almost  invariably.' 

4  O  God  !  O  God  !'  shrieked  E.Ien. 

The  captain  interposed, — 

4  Hold,  doctor  !  there  is  surely  some  hope  ? 
The  fracture,  you  say?  is  slight ;  it  is  not  AL 
WAYS  fatal ;  he  MAY  recover  ?'  urged  he,  with 
emphasis. 

4  There  is  hope — but  it  is  very  slender,'  re 
joined  the  cautious  physician,  with  medical 
precision.  '  Congestion  of  the  brain  is  a  dan 
gerous  disease  ;  for  weeks  his  life  will  hang 
upon  a  thread.' 

4  Hope,  hope,  blessed  hope  !  at  least  there 
is  one  cheering  ray  of  consolation  !'  murmur 
ed  Ellen,  with  heart-breathed  thankfulness  on 
her  lips ;  and  over  the  body  of  her  wounded 
lover  she  knelt  in  silent  prayer  to  the  Heaven 
that  had  cast  down  and  could  raise  up  again. 

It  was  as  the  experienced  surgeon  had  pre- 
licted.  The  prophecied  symptoms,  in  their 
natural  order,  succeeded  to  each  other.  From 
the  long  swoon  into  which  the  catastrophe  had 
plunged  him,  the  dreaded  brain  fever  at  once 
ensued,  and  for  full  a  month,  Henry  Vernon 
lay  in  his  berth,  the  victim  of  delirium. 

Of  course  the  genefons-hearted  captain  had 
provided  him  with  suitable  attendants ;  and 
now  that  he  was  an  invalid,  Ellen  could,  with 
propriety,  daily  visit  him,  not  feel  maidenly 
delicacy  wounded,  even  in  the  presence  of  the 
good  old  sailor,  who  alone,  beside,  was  in  the 
secret  of  her  true  character. 

Though  the  mind  of  Vernon  wandered  clay 

1    night,   with  scarce. a   lucid  'interval,  yet 


and 


Ellen's  hand  and  Ellen's  tones  had  a  magic 
influence  in  them,  to  soothe  and  calm  him 
even  in  his  moments  of  wildest  delirium.— 
Hope,  angelic  hope,  cheered  her  through  all, 
even  while  life  and  death  hung  wavering  in 
the  balance  of  fate's  fickle  scales. 

This,  for  full  a  month,  we  have  said,  con 
tinued.  The  violence  of  the  fever  had,  by 
this  time,  well  nigh  exhausted  both  itself  and 
its  prey,  and  now  the  crisis  approached. — 
Hope  and  fear,  in  one  loving  watcher's  breast 
by  turns  preponderated, as  the  thrilling  ordeal 
drew  close  at  hand  ;  and  not  the  less  so  that 
it  was  destined  to  be  coupled  with  another  and 
a  far  different  ordeal,  through  which  the  gal 
lant  ship  and  all  on  board  were  about  to  pass. 

Comparatively  fair  winds  and  calm  seas  had 
thus  far  favored  the  voyage  of  our  adventur 
ers.  They  had  encountered  no  heavy  gales 


50 


KIT  CARSON. 


to  endanger  their  safety,  no  baffling  winds  to 
delay  their  progress.  But  now  they  had  been 
above  a  month  at  sea,  and  were  approaching 
the  southern  extremity  of  South  America. 

The  shores  of  Patagonia  were  to  be  passed, 
the  Staits  of  Magellan  left  behind,  the  coast 
of  the  Cape  yet  to  be  safely  rounded.  'J'he 
first  two  of  these  important  preliminaries  were 
the  work  of  but  a  few  days  more, — the  last 
eventful  undertaking  came,  fully  as  soon  as 
they  found  themselves  prepared  for  that  most 
arduous  effort  of  the  mariner. 

And  at  length  Cape  Horn  loomed  up  be 
fore  them — the  most  perilous  of  passages,  the 
stormiest  of  capes — and  as  they  neared  the 
mighty  barrier  which  separates  two  oceans, 
that  seems  ever  struggling  for  the  mastery, 
the  tempests  that  are  ever  born  of  the  Atlan 
tic's  and  Pacific's  union,  now  burst  on  them  in 
all  their  terrific  majesty,  in  all  their  awful 
grandeur. 

It  was  night — night  wild  and  stormy,  when 

the  good  ship  S sought  to  pass  the  ocean- 

rubicon.  The  splendid  arch  of  Heaven  was 
dark  with  monster  clouds,  but  bright  with  the 
lurid  lightning  that  led  the  thunderbolts.  One 
wild,  tumultuous  cauldron  of  boiling,  hissing 
waters,  was  the  billowV  Vilderness.  It  was 
no  every-day  hackneyed  sight  of  a  sea  storm 
no  mere  convulsion  ot  the  elements  on  the 
broad  deep  was  this  ;  it  was  the  sudden  meet 
ing,  the  impetuous  encounter,  the  dread  con 
flict  of  two  mighty  oceans  upon  the  com  mon 
battle-ground  of  old  Cape  Horn. 

Captain  Allen  well  knew  the  exigency  for 
which  he  must  prepare  himself;  he  was  an 
old  seaman  and  a  gallant  one  ;  and  five  times, 
successively,  in  his  adventurous  sailor's  life, 
had  he  ma^e  that  daring  passage.  He  ap 
proached  it  now  with  peculiar  emotions,  for  the 
the  very  last  occasion  on  which  he  had  'round 
ed  .the  cape,'  his  vessel,  with  all  on  board,  had 
narrowly  escaped  shipwreck  and  destruc 
tion  ! 

But  he  was  -now  in  command  of  a  larger 
and  better  ship,  purchased  expressly  for  the 
California  adventure,  and  he  trusted  to  her 
good  qualities,  to  a  sailor's  skill  and  a  watch 
ful  Providence,  to  guard  him  through  the  perils 
which  he  knew  it  was  in  vain  to  hope  to  es 
cape  altogether  ;  and  when,  finally,  he  came 
now  to  encounter  the  gale's  violence  it  was 
necessary  to  crowd  on  the  ship  every  inch  of 
canvass  she  could  bear  ;  for  there  on  her  lee- 
bow  lav  '  the  Horn,'  the  most  formidable  of 


lee  shores,  and  sea-room  must  be  gained,  if 
she  sought  not  certain  shipwreck.  With  all 
the  sail  set  that  in  prudence  could  be  spread, 
now  strove  the  noble  craft  and  gallant  crew 
to  'claw  offshore.' 

Broad  was  the  offing  that  must  be  won  ! — 
and  though,  as  they  came  each  moment  more 
and  more  completely  under  the  influence  of 
the  storm-roused  winds,  the  straining  of  the 
gale  threatened  to  shiver  the  groaning  sails; 
yet  still  that  press  of  canvass  was  she  com 
pelled  to  carry,  not  a  rag  dared  they  take  in, 
or  run  the  fearful  hazard  of  driving  on 
shore  ! 

With  quivering  yards,  with  creaking  can 
vass,  and  cordage  shrieking,  but  boldly,  proud 
ly,  bravely,  amid  the  deluges  of  flashing  foam 

and  the  chaos  of  breaking  seas,  shot  the  S 

out  to  sea. 

Now  buried  in  the  abyss-like  trough  of  the 
tumultuous  sea,  now  lifted  on  the  towering 
summit  of  some  mountain  of  the  main  ;  one 
moment  all  was  one  black  wilderness  of  toss 
ing  waters,  one  boundless  succession  of  yawn 
ing  pits — the  next,  as  if  unto  the  very  heavens 
lifted,  from  the  monster  wave-tops  were  to  be 
seen  the  frowning  cliffs,  the  inhospitable  pro 
montory,  with  its  adamantine  wall  and  black, 
wild  head  upraised,  in  defiance  to  old  ocean's 
might. 

The  violent  heavings  and  pitchings  of  the 
ship,  the  howling  windsand  the  stunning  thun 
der  reverberations,  all  told,  even  to  those  be 
low,  the  arrival  of  the  critical  hour  of  the 
voyage. 

Anxious  to  ascertain  how  great  the  peril, 
Ellen  Lincoln  had  for  a  moment  left  the  side 
of  her  delirious  Henry,  and  relaxing  for  a  mo 
ment  love's  sleepless  vigil,  she  came  upon 
deck  to  end  her  suspense,  for  it  had  now  be 
come  intolerable. 

Scarcely  had  she  joined  the  group  on  deck, 
to  become,  like  them,  an  awe-struck  beholder 
of  the  terrific  spectacle,  ere  she  heard  the 
captain's  order — 

'  Batten  down  the  hatches— batten  them 
down  for  your  lives  !  Stand  fast ! — look  out 
for  that  sea !' 

And  before  the  startling  command  could  be 
more  than  half  executed,  a  monster  wave 
came  rolling  in  from  seaward,  and  made  a 
clean  breach  fore  and  aft,  deluging  the  decks, 
from  the  forecastle  to  the  binnacle  ;  while,  at 
the  same  instant,  the  sails  suddenly  shivered 
and  flapped,  like  the  mangroves  of  the  south, 


KIT  CARSON. 


51 


in  the  tropic  gales ;  and  sternly  from  the 
captain's  lips  rang  out  the  shout, — 

4  Up  with  the  helm  ! — by  Heavens  the  wind 
has  headed  us  P 

1  We  are  directly  off  the  Horn,  sir,'  said  the 
voice  of  the  mate,  in  a  tone  of  forced  calm 
ness. 

4  We  are  ! — now  comes  the  crisis !  Quarter 
master,  how  stands  the  compass  ?' 

4  She  has  fallen  off  a  point  and  a  half,  sir,' 
replied  the  quarter-master,  from  the  bin 
nacle. 

4  The  ship  has  broken  off,  Mr.  Johnson!' 
echoed  the  captain  to  his  mate,  his  voice  at  a 
thrilling  pitch. 

4  She  must  be  brought  up  to  the  wind  again, 
Capt.  Allen.' 

4  She  must — not  an  instant  is  to  be  lost — all 
hands  !  wear  ship  !' 

4  She  wears  !'  shouted  the  mate  ;  4  see  how 
gallantly  she  comes  up  to  it  !' 

The  ship  came  round  on  the  other  track, 
and  her  sails  filling,  she  stood  on,  with  the 
land  right  on  her  lee  bows. 

4  Now  for  it,  Mr.  Johnson  !'  cried  the  cap 
tain.  '  We  must  hug  the  land  !  God  help  us 
to  weather  the  Cape,  and  God  grant  we  have 
offing  enough  !' 

There  was  a  pause — not  in  the  wild  warfare 
of  the  elements,  not  in  the  onward  rush  of  the 
driving  ship,  but  in  the  voices  of  men.  Sud 
denly  the  lieutenant  said. — 

4  Captain  Allen,  we  must  be  farther  to  wind 
ward  or  we  shall  never  weather  it.' 

4 1  see  it,  Mr.  Johnson  !  we  must  have  more 
sail  on  the  ship.' 

'  But  can  she  bear  it,  sir  ?' 

4  Bear  it  she  must.  1  shall  put  the  main 
sail  on  her.' 

4  The  mainsail !  Captain  Allen  ?  Impos 
sible  !' 

4  It  must  be  done,  sir,'  replied  t  he  captain 
to  his  subordinate's  tones  of  remonstrance  ; 
4  aye,  even  if  it  takes  the  very  sails  out  of  the 
bolt-ropes.' 

'  The  mast  will  never  stand  it,  I  fear,  sir ! 
Would  that  we  had  gone,  instead,  by  way  of 
the  Straits !' 

4  This  is  not  the  first,  time,  Mr.  Johnson, 
that  I  have  rounded  the  Horn ;  I  take  all  the 
responsibility.  It  is  our  only  chance — how's 
her  head  now,  helmsman  ?' 

4  Nor'-west  by  west,'  sung  out  the  man  at 
the  wheel. 

Captain  Allen,  cool  and  composed,  but  firm 


and  resolved,  turned  to  his  officer,  calmly  say 
ing,— 

4  Come  with  me  to  the  helm,  Johnson — we 
must  both  lend  a  hand  aft !' 

Thus  speaking,  the  captain  and  first  lieu 
tenant  took  the  helmsman's  place,  and  the  or 
der  was  instantly  passed  to  set  the  main 
sail. 

It  was  done — not  without  many  fears  and 
misgivings  on  all  sides.  Terrible  was  the 
struggle  that  then  ensued — terrific  the  crisis. 
It  was  now  that  the  ship  was  called  upon  to 
stem  the  full  fury  of  the  elements ;  the  men 
and  the  few  passengers  on  deck  were  forced 
to  cling  to  the  rigging,  the  gun-carriages  and 
bulwarks,  as  sea  after  sea  dashed  over  them, 
causing  the  ship  to  groan  and  quiver  in  every 
plank ;  while  on,  onward  she  dashed,  now 
rapidly  nearning  the  grand  point  which  she 
must  pass. 

Time  lagged  not — toward  the  black  and 
towering  cliff,  with  its  giant  summit  bathed  in 
misty  spray,  with  the  howling  surf  and  the 
roaring  breakers  at  its  foot,  on  the  imperilled 
vessel  sped,  straining  to  pass  that  jutting  pro 
montory,  until  the  very  foam  from  the  wave- 
lashed  rocks,  in  sprinkles  fell  upon  the  decks 
and  the  ship  careenecj  over,  under  the  fearful 
pressure,  so  that  her  lee  channels  were  under 
water.  The  struggling  ship  was  within  three 
cables-lenghth  of  the  rock  ! 

It  was  a  dreadful  moment ! — on,  as  if  to  her 
very  doom  she  drove  ;  the  cliff  seemed  to 
tower  above  the  very  forecastle,  her  main-yard- 
arm  dipped  till  it  appeared  to  touch  the  rock. 

A  yell  of  despair  broke  from  passengers 
and  crew — a  fling  blast  struck  the  vessel 
foul,  floating  in  an  instant  the  lee  gangway 
and  lee  side  of  the  quarter-deck — a  report 
like  a  cannon's  thunder-roar  was  head,  and 

all  shut  their  eyes  to  the  doom  each  felt 

was  inevitable ! 


CHAPTER  XL 

The  Ocean  Escape— The  Packet's  Loss-— The 
Dangerous  Relapse — The  Plotter's  Retribution 
— The  Arrival  at  San  Francisco. 

4  Ho,  ho,  ho !  our  goal  is  gained  ! 
Successfully  each  nerve  we've  strained  ' 

SUDDEN  surge  was  felt — to  many  a  despair- 


KIT  CARSON. 


ing  heart  it  seemed  like  the  final  plunge  to 
perdition  !— -a  violent  forging  of  the  ship  ahead 
— a  moment  passed  ;  and  then,  even  the  most 
fearful  ventured  one  look  -more,  where  they 
had  thought  to  have  taken  their  last,  already. 

What  a  sight  was  there  !— -the  ship  was  on 
her  beam-ends,  her  mainmast  had  gone  by  the 
board  ;  from  bowsprit  to  taffrail,  the  shattered 
craft  trembled  and  shook — but  the  dreaded 
headland  lay  no  longer  on  the  lee-bow,  but 
loomed  up  behind  on  the  weather  quarter ! 

The  outermost  point  of  the  Cape  had  been 


The  gallant  captain  sprang  from  the  helm 
into  the  mizen-rigging,  and  waved  his  cap  : 
1  Three  cheers,  three  cheers,  boys,  with  a 
will !  we've  weathered  Cape  Horn  !' 

1  Hurrah !  hurrah  I  we  have  doubled  the 
Horn  !'  echoed  back  passengers  and  crew,  as 
gallantly,  though  with  a  mighty  effort,  the 
ship,  righting,  answered  her  helm,  and  threw 
off  the  heavy  volume  of  water  that  pressed  her 
down. 

Arid  now  the  stout  vessel,  once  more  with 
a  clear  course,  before  the  wind,  dragged  se 
curely  but  sluggishly  along ;  her  active  men 
busy  an  clearing  away  the  wreck  of  the  main 
mast,  which,  with  all  '  its  hamper,  had  gone 
over  the  side,  and  was  cut  away,  as  a  dozen 
ready  axes  attacked  the  quivering  stump. 

Her  sails  were  torn  into  ribbons  in  the  bolt- 
ropes — the  principal  mast  lost ;  the  damage 

to  the  S was  very  great.  But  little  cared 

the  brave  captain  now  for  this — he  knew  that 
he  could  put  into  the  first  port  for  repairs  ;  the 
danger  had  been  escaped,  the  grand  peril 
elueed- — and  there,  on  his  weather-beam,  far 
away  to  windward,  lay  the  giant  cliffs,  no 
longer  to  be  dreaded  ;  for  now  he  was  in  an 
other  ocean — the  broad  Atlantic  behind  him, 
and  beneath,  around,  before,  the  still  mightier 
Pacific  lay  outspread !  while  back  upon  the 
stormy  precipices,  back  upon  the  raging  '  hell 
of  waters,'  back  upon  that  stupendous  pano 
rama  of  rocky  grandeur,  the  trysting  place  of 
the  giant  sister-seas,  gazed,  enthralled,  the 
awe-struck  girl  upon  that  deck — the  solitary 
female,  who,  like  so  many  ruder  spirits,  had 
that  night  lived  to  pass,  with  them  that  haz 
ardous  ordeal. 

4  And  this  is  Cape  Horn — the  far-famed  king 
of  Capes  ?'  , 

The  captain,  near  whom  the  speaker,  Ellen, 
stood,  turned  at  her  involuntary  outbreak  of 
awe-inspiring  admiration :  while,  with  that 


solemn  tone  So  habitual  With  the  sailor,  when 
speaking  of  the    wonders   of    the  deep,  lie 


4  Ay,  boy,  ay  I-  Henceforth  from  this  night 
boast,  that  you  have  safely  passed  Old  Horn 
— the  stormiest  cape  in  God  s  created  world.' 

'  Captain  Allen,'  said  a  voice,  at  the  last 
speaker's  elbow. 

4  Ha,  Johnson  !  you  look  troubled — what 
now  ?' 

*  Shall  I  send  below  for  the  surgeon,  sir  ? 
The  wreck  of  the  mainmast ' 

The  captain  started.  '  What  were  any  of 
the  men  wounded  ?' 

*  Yes,   sir  f    two  in    the    ship's  waist,  and 
several  of  the  steerage  passengers  have  been 
dangerously  hurt.' 

'  Ha  !  how  did  this  occur  ?' 

4  The  main-boom  was  carried  away  with 
the  mast,  and  dragged  over  togleevvard  with 
the  wreck.' 

'  Place  them  immediately  under  the  doctors 
care,  Mr.  Johnson,'  replied  the  captain,  and 
as  the  order  passed  by  his  second  in  com 
mand,  several  men  appeared,  bearing  the 
wounded  in  their  arms. 

4  There  is  one  old  man,  Capt.  Allen,'  said 
Johnson,  as  he  pointed  to  one  of  the  bleed 
ing  sufferers,  '  who  is  severely  injured,  I 
fear, — his  right  leg  is  broken.  I  observed 
him  repeatedly,  during  the  weathering  of  the 
Cape.  He  seemed  to  be  very  much  terri 
fied,  and  was  on  his  knees  nearly  all  the 
time,  raving  of  his  gold,  and  death,  and 
drowning,  in  a  manner  so  ludicrous  as  well 
nigh  to  move  my  merriment,  in  spite  of  all 
that  was  at  stake  around  us.  The  danger 
seemed  to  have  completely  frightened  the 
old  man  out  of  his  wits,  to  judge  by  his 
ravings — see  that  shattered  limb  of  his ! — 
it  will  lay  him  up  for  many  a  day !' 

4  The  miser — 'the  miser !  it  is  my  Henry's 
uncle  !'  was  the  -breathless  exclamation  of 
Ellen  as  she  recognised,  at  a  glance,  the 
repulsive  person  of  the  old  man,  who  was 
carried,  moaning  and  groaning,  to  the  sur 
geon's  charge  below. 

The  hatches  had,  of  course,  already  been 
re-opened  {  and  heedless  of  all  else  in  the 
sudden  excitement  of  a  discovery  so  nearly 
concerning  her  invalid  lover,  she  hastened 
to  his  cabin. 

The  crisis  of  his  disease  had  taken  place 
two  days  before,  and  Vernon  had  been  pro- 
nounced.  by  the  medical  attendant,  out  of 


KIT  CARSON, 


53 


all  danger,  unless    a    relapse    should    unfor 
tunately  chance  to  occur. 

Still,  Ellen  had  left  him  delirious,  though 
that  delirium  had  greatly  abated  in  maligni 
ty*  and  great  was  her  surprise,  on  returning 
to  the  invalid's  state-room,  to  find  her  poor 
jmtient  dressed  and  seated  at  the  table. 

She  went  up  to  him,  her  entrance  unper- 
ccived  ;  his  head  and  pallid  face  were  rest 
ing  on  his  hand,  and  an  expression  of  deep, 
but  vague  thought,  had  usurped  the  wild- 
ness  of  delirium  in  his  eye. 
4  Henry  !' 

He  started,  looked  earnestly  at  her,  utter 
ed  a  feeble  cry,  and  would  have  staggered 
up  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms  but  she  pre 
vented  him,  and  throwing  her  own  tightly 
around  him,  pressed  her  warm,  red  mouth 
to  his  bloodless  lips. 

4  Ellen,  where  am  I  ?  what  has  occurred  ?' 
he  stammered^  as  if  in  a  dream. 

4  You  have  been  ill — delirious  for  weeks,' 
she  softly  murmured. 

'  111  I—delirious  ?  Ah  !  I  remember  now, 
I  think -that  night— in  my  state  room- 
that  strange  arm  in  my  berth— I—I  have  a  dim 

recollection  of— of O  God  !  where   is  my 

mind  ? ' 

The  dear  girl  by  his  side  suffered  him  to 
pause  in  earnest  meditation  ;  nor  did  she  in 
terrupt  the  current  of  his  memory,  for  she 
knew  that  it  was  best  to  leave  it  to  develope 
itself  naturally.  And  while  she  thus  had  lei 
sure  for  a  moment's  self-reflection,  it  readily 
occurred  to  her  that  it  was  ihe  shock  of  the 
last  night's  hardy  venture,  the  wild  conflict  of 
the  elements  around,  which  had  operated  to 
break  the  delirium  of  the  invalid,  and  restore 
nim  suddenly  to  reason,  with  the  artificial 
energy  it  supplied.  She  well  knew  the  com 
mon  effect  of  a  sudden  and  violent  shock  on  a 
fever  ;  she  saw  that  he  had  been  wakened  by 
it  to  rationality,  and  rising  from  the  berth,  of 
which  he  had  so  long  been  the  tenant,  had 
dressed  himself  and  dreamily  sat  down  to  col 
lect  his  own  wandering  thoughts. 

*  My    uncle '  he   said,   at   length,   and 

stopped,  showing  that  which   was   uppermos 
in  his  mind. 

4 1  have  intelligence  to  impart,  relative  to 
him,  dearest,  that  may  shock  you.  We  have 
doubled  Cape  Horn,  Henry,  this  very  night 
but  your  uncle,  your  aged  uncle,  has  been 
dreadlully  injured  in  the  storm  ;  he  is  in  fear 
ful  misery — he  has  broken  a  limb  !  Enemy 


as  he  has  ever  been  to  you,  I  feel  that  your 
generous  heart,  dear  Henry,  will  not  rejoice 
at  his  misfortune.' 

4  Enemy  as  he  is  to  me,  indeed,  indeed, 
Ellen — - — hark!  hark  1*  he  repeated,  with  a 
wild  flas..h  of  recollection ;  4  to  HIM  it  was  I 
owe  all  this  !  v  O  God  !  I  remember  it  all  now, 
— HE  it  was  who  entered  my  cabin  that  fear 
ful  night,  he  it  was  who  stood  over  me  in  my 
berth,  HIS  the  hand  that  T  awoke  to  find  grop 
ing  at  my  heart,  HiS  arm  it  was  that  hung  in 
the  darkness  over  me,  when  I  sought  to  spring 
from  my  pillow,  and  the  next  moment  knew 
no  more.' 

4  Merciful  Providence,  Henry !  did  your 
uncle  seek  to  assassinate  you  ?  could  he  have 
been,  in  design,  a  murderer?' 

4  What  else,  Ellen,  what  else  could  his  ob 
ject  have  been  ?  Was  he  not  seeking  for  the 
heart,  in  which  to  plant  the  knife,  to  make  the 
blow  more  sure  ?  What  other  purpose  could 

he  have    had — and    yet '      He  struck  his 

hand  against  his  forehead,  remaining  one  mo 
ment  silent.  '  Ha  !  accursed  suspicion, — O 
worse  than  death,  even.  The  packet ! — where 
is  the  packet  ?  God  of  Heaven  !  my  UNCLE 

HAS  STOLEN  THE  SECRET  PACKET  P 

With  the  frantically  gasped  word  on  his 
lips,  he  fell  senseless  into  Ellen's  arms,  to 
awaken  to  delirium  once  more.  A  RELAPSE 
had  taken  place  ! 

A  relapse  which  the  poor  girl  knew  to  be 
in  almostj  every  case  fatal  ;  and  Ellen,  who 
had  bravely  borne  up  so  long,  now  became 
nigh  distracted — of  Vernon's  life  there  was 
now  scarce  a  chance. 

But  swiftly,  gallantly,  meanwhile  the  good 
ship  which  bore  them  both,  went  on  towards 
its  destination. 

Capt.  Allen  had  put  into  one  of  the  Pacific 
ports  for  repairs,  and  then  proceeded  on  his 
voyage.  Once  only  he  paused,  subsequently, 
and  this  was  at  Panama,  and  from  the  Isthmus 

the  S stood  on  for  the  harbor  of  San 

Francisco. 

O  how  eagerly  did  those  assembled  hun 
dreds  pant  for  the  hour  of  their  voyage's  end, 
but  there  were  suffering  bodies  as  well  as 
axious  minds  in  the  swift-bounding  ship,  yet 
neither  the  relapsed  invalid  in  his  delirium, 
nor  the  wounded  miser,  in  his  physical  pain, 
endured,  in  reality,  greater  torture  than  was 
inflicted  by  suspense  and  impatient  avarice  on 
those  who  were,  both  corporeally,  mentally,  in 
sound  health. 


54 


KIT  CARSON. 


Six  weeks  had  dragged  on,  marked  only, 
seemingly,  by  the  lapse  of  time  and  conquest 
of  distance.  Near,  very  near,  were  the  Cali 
fornia  Adventures  to  the  goal  of  their  golden 
aspirations.  Each  hour  looked  they  now  for 
the  first  glimpse  of  the  glorious  El  Dorado — - 
the  captain's  observations  told  him  that  he  was 
in  the  immediate  vicinity,  nor  did  they  deceive' 
him.. 

4  Land  ho!  land  ho!1  ;  ^  >  , 

'  Ho,  the  mast-head  !  whereaway  ?' 

1  Ahead,  sir — two  points  free.' 

'What  does  it  look  like  ?' 

'  Like  an  arm  of  the  mainland  reaching  out 
around  the  sea,;  hailed  back  the  look  out  from 


aloft.     *  You'll  have  it  on  deck,  soon,  sir  !' 

4  The  Bay  of  San  Francisco  !  .the  Bay  of 
San  Francisco !'  proclaimed,  amid  one  deaf* 
ening  cheer,  the  captain's  sonorous  voice. 

4  Nine  times  nine,  my  hearties  !  nine  times, 
nine,  for  old  California  ! — it  is  ours — ours  at- 
last.  After  all  our  perils,  all  our  dangers, 
now  to  reap  the  rich  reward !  Yonder,  within 
the  wide  sweep  of  that  arm  of  the  sea,  lies 
SAN  FRANCISCO,  and  there  to  the  northward, 
winds  the  golden  waters  of  the  SACRAMENTO  • 
In  five  hours  more  we  touch  the  precious  soi' 
of  California  !  Hurrah  !  boys,  hurrah  !  Foi 
tune  is  before  us  I1 


-rjo  jR'f. 
•  .•{I  1u; 
•>ffj  <>,^ 


i-«  m  ,!i?w 


><::<;<v/  |  —moo 'i  Mfj:J  •  vw  nf"»J( 
3:ij  R;  i  nii& .KOVBiH— I—  ^.MJ  v. 
-• /{*\H  i  yni  ei  'jift^w  !r'->D(> — 


^rr'^r-  ol  ff.J».:.vn  '  -»"  ; 
I'^iifq  (Wrffilb^ -|   J*«W-' 


-.v/-i  t:.^i.:-:*;  Ill      *<'5' 

>       /'••7<VJ-f    !»'8t{    I    Vlij^j:v.'l    t?    .OO.ilO 
;/,-.::   ,!«2Ja    !    '^^,.^0     -^f 

' 


"I'*"  - 


THE  MISER, 
JOHN    7ERNON, 

>1  DISCOVERING  THE  SUICIDE  OF  HIS  WIFE 

WHO     HAD,     FOR     TEARS, 

Eluded  his  Pursuit 


56 


KIT  CARSON. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

The  Merchant's  Clerk  in  Prison— The  Unexpected 
Good  Fortune — Lincoln  once  more  bound  for 
California. 

'  Ha,  ha,  ha !    I  have  severed  the  chains  around 

me — 
k  Ha,  ha,  ha!     I  havo  burst  the  fetters  that  bound 

me!' 

*  To  bear,  is  to  conquer  our  fate/ 

FROM  the  goal  of  onr  adventurer's  fortune-fa 
vored  wishes  we  now  return,  from  the  newly- 
gained  shores  of  California's  golden  paradise,  to 
one  whose  cruel  fate  had  so  strangely  prevented 
him  from  participation  in  the  ecstacies  with  which 
the  delighted  voyageurs  beheld  themselvds  at 
lengthen  the  very  threshold  of  their  bright  hope's 
bewildering  consummation;  where  we  now  for  a 
brief  time  leave  them,  to  follow  an  earlier  scent, 
which  lias  been,  in  the  meanwhile,  lost. 

In  prison  lay  Eugone  Lincoln !     It  was  the  day 

after  the  sailing  of  the  ship  S ,   and  the  same 

morning's  light  found  the  merchant's  clerk  the  ten 
ant  of  Leverett  street  Jail — th,e  solitary  occupant 
of  a  narrow  cell,  with  orily  a  wretched  pallet  for 
his  resting  place,  during  the  night  of  misery  that 
had  already  passed. 

*  Heaven  help  me !  have  I  come  to  this  ?'  was  his 
waking  query  and  constant  thought.  '  O  mother, 
my  sainted,  angel  mother !  didst  thou  think  to  see 
Ihy  poor  Eugene  thus  ? — a  captive  in  a  public  pri 
son  !  No,  no.  Alas!  thy  own  sorrowing  life, mo 
ther,  has  been  thy  poor  son's  sole  inheritance. — 
For  long,  long  years,  one  only  cup  of  happiness 
has  been  raised  to  my  lips  ;  and  even  that,  relent 
less  destiny  dashes,  ere  tasted,  from  my  uncertain 
grasp !' 

And  he  groaned  in  his  misery. 

The  sound  of  approaching  footsteps  were  neard 
at  this  juncture,  without  the  cell;  a  key  turned  in 
the  lock — the  turnkey  entered. 

The  prisoner  started  up, — '  Ha,  sir !  you  are  my 
jailer?' 

The  turnkey  nodded. 

Anxious  for  explanation,  Eugene  sprang  eager 
ly  forward  to  meet  him — so  very  eagerly,,  that  the 
man  mistook  his  purpose,  and  roughly  pushed  him 
back,  gruffly  saying, — 

4  None  of  that,  if  you  please.  You  needn't  think 
to  escape,  my  covey.' 

4  You  misunderstand  me,  fellow.  I  did  but  seek 
to  learn  why,  and  by  what  right,  I  am  thus  con- 
lined.' 

4  Oho,  you  did,  did  you  ?'  was  the  sneering  re 
ply,  in  an  incredulous  tone.  '  For  debt,  man,  of 
course.' 

4  For  debt !'  repeated  the  prisoner ;  4  ah  !  I  do 
remember  it — 4  for  debt,  at  the  suit  of  John  Ver- 
non,'  those  were  the  very  words.  'Tis  false,'  cried 
ie.  energetically,  "Tis  false !  I  owe  him  not.' 


1  A  good  way  to  get  clear  of  a  man's  honest 
debts,  isn't  it,  now  ?'  sneered  the  gaoler  ;  •  better 
nor  the  bankrupt  law,  by  considerable,  this  making 
tracks  for  Califor  ia.' 

4 Scoundrel!'  rose  to  the  lips  of  Eugene,  but  he 
prudently  repres  <ed  it  from  policy,  for  he  had  an 
end  to  gain.  He  therefore  swallowed  his  indig*. 
nation,  and  said  calmly,—* 

4  Listen  to  me,  sir.  I  neither  stand  indebted  a 
penny's  value  to  John  Vernon,  nor  do  I  know  any 
person  by  siv.h  a  name.' 

4  Gammon !'  growled  the  keeper. 
4  As   I  hope  for   Heaven's    mercy !'    persisted 
Lincoln,    in   a   solemn    manner,    *  what  I  say  is 
strictly  true.' 

4  Oh! — it  is  all  true,  is  it,  mister?  Well,  and 
what  then  ?'  was  the  official's  insolent  rejoinder. 

4  What  then,  sir?  THIS,'  oxclaimed  the  young 
man,  no  longer  able  to  control  his  rising  indigna,- 
tion, — 4  It  is  nil  a  foul  conspiracy,  a  falsehood  from 
beginning  to  end.  That  man  does  not  live  who 
can  say  that  Eugene  Lincoln  is  his  lawful  debtor 
for  a  dollar.  I  see  the  drift  of  this  whole  matter  5 
it  was  some  villainous  scheme  to  prevent  my  de 
parture  for  California; though  God  only  knows  to 
whose  malignity  1  owe  it— I  knew  not  that  I  had 
an  enemy  in  the  world.' 

But  the  jailer  seemed  to  grow  impatient,  for,, 
setting  down  the  food  he  had  brought,  he  said^ 
hastily,— 

4  Well,  well ;  1  can't  stop,  dallying  here  all  day 
— that's  sartain.  It's  all  humbug,  I  suppose,  this 
stuff  that  you've  beten  a  telling  me  ;  at  all  events, 
if  it  is  true,  Mister,  you've  your  redress,  that's  all. 
If  so  be  it's  just  as  you  say,  and  you  don't  owe.  the 
man  as  complained  of  you,  why  then  you  can  take 
out  a  warrant  agin  him  for  false  imprisonment  and 
malicious  prosecution,  and  lay  your  damages  ac- 
ingly.  But  if  this  story  of  yours  is  all  gammon, 
why,  in  that  case,  if  you're  a  poor  devihand  have 
got  no  money,  you  can  stay  in,  jug  thirty  days, 
days,  and  then  swear  out  on  the  poor  debtor's 
oath.  There  is  some  comfort  for  you,  either 
way.' 

And  the  rough,  but  not  altogether  unfeeling- 
jailer,  thus  speaking,  turned  the  lock  once  more 
upon  his  prisoner,  leaving  him  to  partake  of  his 
coarse  and  scanty  meal,  and  went  his  way. 

4  Thanks  for  the  hint,  at  all  events,' soliloquized 
the  captive  ;  and  he  formed  the  determination  of 
acting  on  this  very  good  advice,*  resolving  to  go 
immediately  before  the  examining  magistrate,  to 
contest  the  debt,  and  institute  proceedings  against 
eis  unknown  prosecutor  for  conspiracy  and  illegal 
detention. 

But  he  was,  in  part,  spared  that  trouble.  His 
jailer,  in  the  course  of  the  day,  returned  with  the 
unexpected  information  that  the  plaintiff  had  fail 
ed  to  appear  to  prove  his  charge  ;  and  that,  con 
sequently,  the  latter  was  dismissed,  and  the  de 
fendant  discharged  from  custody. 

Burning  with  indignation  against  his  cowardly 
persecutor,  but  unable  to  surmise  what  enemy  hp 


KIT    CARSON. 


57 


could  have  made,  to  do  him  this  foul  injury,  the 
released  Lincoln  left  no  possible  means  untried  to 
obtain  access  to  his  presence ;  but  his  efforts  were 
in  vain,  his  inquiries  as  useless  ;  even  from  the 
policeman  who  had  apprehended  him  upon  the 

S 's  decks,  no  satisfaction  could  he  obtain, 

and  scarcely,  any  explanation  whatever;  save  that 
he  had  been  emplo/ed  by  an  old  man,  calling  him 
self  by  the  name  of  John  Vernon,  to  arrest  an  ab 
sconding  debtor,  on  his  way  to  California. 

This  scanty  information  he  had  obtained  only 
by  threats  of  implicating  the  officer  as  an  acces 
sory  to  the  conspiracy  ;  and  Lincoln  went  away, 
convinced  in  his  own  mind,  that  the  sheriff  had 
been  bribed  to  silence,  and  that  the  whole  had 
been  the  work  of  some  secret  foe,  to  whose  iden 
tity  he  could  detect  no  clue. 

Of  the  name  alone,  was  he  is  possession;  tho' 
it,  too,  was  a  stranger  to  him  ;  and,  John  Vrernon  ! 
John  Vermin !'  a. hundred  times  he  tepeated  to 
himself,  bent  on  fixing  that  name  so  firmly  in  his 
thought  that  nothing  should  eradicate  the  memory 
of  the  sole  key  lie  had  to  the  future  discovery  of 
a,  mystery  that  much  perplexed,  nay,  nearly  mad 
dened  him. 

But  this  was  not  the  only  blow  he  was  destined 
to  feel.  His  next  step  of  course,  after  surrender 
ing  the  futile  search  for  his  mysterious  persecu 
tor,  was  to  j:<>ek  his  sister  in  her  home,  and  sur 
prise  her  with  the  personal  announcement  that  her 
brother  was  still  in  the  cilv,  a  lingerer  yet 
upon  the  soil  he  was  supposed  to  have  left  be 
hind. 

How  shall  we  describe  the  feelings  of  Lincoln, 
when  met  at  the  door  of  his  cottage-home  by  its 
weeping  mistress,  with  the  tale  of  her  young 
charge's  strange  disappearance  ;  and  its  startling 
explanation,  contained  in  the  brief  note  left  by  his 
sister,  to  allay,  in  some  measure,  the  apprehen 
sions  which  her  otherwise  inexplicable  departure 
must  occasion.  Better  far  can  the  penetrating 
reader  conceive,  than  we  depict,  the  effect  on  the 
hapless  brother. 

Misfortunes  never  come  singly — how  true  these 
,'  he  said,  at  last,  O  how  bitterly. 

'Heavens!  and  so  'twas  not enought  that  all  my 
plans  should  be  thwarted,  all  my  bright  hopes 
dashed  to  earth!  not  enough,  when  even  fortune 
seemed-  for  a  while  providentially  to  favor  me, 
that  the  paradise  of  my  aspirations  should  be  torn 
from  beneath  my  very  feet,  and  this  beating  heart 
hurled  headlong  from  the  pinnacle  of  hope — no, 
no !  miseries  had  not  enough  accumulated,  even 
when  stern  fate  made  me  a  companion  with  felons 
— a  fellow  prisoner  with  the  thieves  and  pick 
pockets  of  my  native  city  I  No  ;  to  all  this  is  add 
ed  this  last,  nwst  terrible  blow  uf  all;  and  from 
the  gloom  and  misery  of  a  jail,  I  emerge  to  find 
her,  for  whose  sake  I  would  have  sought  the 
shores  ,of  California,  torn  from  her  home,  exposed 
to  the  dangers  of  a  sea  voyage,  and  the  thousand 
hazards  which  beset  an  unprotected  girl — the 


companion  of  a  band  of  adventurers'  Well,  well, 
4tis  fate— -I  must  submit. 

But  the  stoicism  of  setttled  despair  breathed  in 
the  last  words,  soon  qualified  him  for  calm  and 
cool  deliberation.  When  he  reflected,  dispassion 
ately,  fathoming  as  he  did  the  whole  of  his  young 
sister's  devoted  scheme,  he  could  not  but  admit 
that  the  thoughtless  girl  was  not  altogether  unpro 
tected  ;  that  matters  were  not  quite  so  bad  as  they 
might  have  bee'i. 

Ellen,  though  deprived  of  a  brother's  care,  had 
still  one  friend  left  to  look  too  :  one  who  loved  her 
wito  manly  devotion  ;  and  Lincoln  felt  assured  that 
Henry  Ver  on  would  peril  his  very  existe'nce  to 
shield  the  woman  whom  he  idolized  from  harm. 

Despite,  therefore,  every  fear  and  drawback, 
Eugene  could  not  well  shut  his  heart  to  these 
comforting  convictions,  and  comfor'-vl  he  was. 

Yet  mingled  with  these  grains  of  consolation, 
came  back  the  maddening  thought  of  his  own  sit 
uation;  his  intended  voyage  prevented  his  blight 
ed  visions  of  wealth,  his  passage;  money  lost,  his 
heart's  dearest  object  baffled.  Yet  he  would  not 
suffer  himself  to  be  excited  by  these  aggravating 
reminiscences—  he  sat  himself  down  to  meditate 
coolly  on  the  best  course  to  be  pursued. 

He  coull  not  bear  the  idea  of  relinquishing  for 
ever  the  golden  dream  of  fortune  that  still  haunted 
him  ;  he  felt,  indeed,  that  he  had  a  fresh  incentive 
to  persevere  in  his  original  intention,  ior  not  only 
would  he  be  on  the  high-road  to  the  wealth  he  so 
panted  for,  but  this  would  of  course  place  him  in 
the  immediate  way  of  regaining  his  lost  sister. 
Yet  against  all  this,  he  had  forfeited  both  his  op 
portunity  and  its  purchase  rioney — for  the  passage- 
payment  had  of  course  been  made,  and  was  LOST 
to  him — and  thus  was  swallowed  up  the  whole 
amount  he  had  reserved  for  his  own  use — how 
then  was  the  means  for  a  fresh  venture  to.  be  ob 
tained  ?  True,  two  hundred  of  his  thousand  yet 
remained  in  the  widow's  hand,  but  this  was  sacred 
to  the  good  woman's  use,  and  tno  earthly  consid 
eration  would  have  induced  him  to  withdraw  the 
genoroi'S  gift  from  one  to  whom  he  felt  under 
grateful  obligation. 

Long  and  deliberately  he  pondered,  but  the 
end  of  all  this  was,  that  he  resolved  on  laying  his 
whole  situation  frankly  before  the  noble  and  liber 
al  minded  man  who  had  so  magnanimously  re 
warded  the  signal  service  rendered  to  the  firm  in 
which  he  was  so  deeply  interested. 

The  result  exceeded  even  the  most  sanguine 
anticipations  hfc  had  dared  to  form.  Tiie  gentle 
man  heard  him,  attentively  and  kindly,  listened 
patiently  to  the  irank  narrative  of  the  young  man's 
disappointment  and  subsequent  trials,  the  loss  of 
sister,  friend,  passage  and  passage-money;  and, 
after  satisfying  himself  by  inquiry,  of  the  truth  of 
Lincoln's  singular  statement,  he  announced  to  his 
overjoyed  protege,  his  fullest  confidence  in  his 
honor  and.  good  faith,  and  own  determination  to  aid 
his  praiseworthy  young  friena  to  the  best  of  his 
ability. 


58 


KIT  CARSON, 


In  little  more  than  one  week's  time  after  Eugene 
Lincoln  emerged  from  Leverett  street  jail,  an  ar- 
nngernent  had  been  perfected,  hy  virtue  of  which 
he  was  to  proceed,  overland,  to  San  Francisco,  as 
me  agent  and  partner  of  his  benefactor,  in  a  pri 
vate  adventure  to  the  Gold  Regions-!  ',Jy 

Every  preparation  was  made,  everything  duly 
arranged  for  the  comfort  and  the  convenience  of 
the  young  adventurer,  apd  by  the  tenth  day  fol 
lowing  the  suiling  of  his  sister  and  Vernon,  he 
found  himself  fully  equipped  for  a  mining  and 
rrading  expedition,  and  on  his  way  over  the  conti 
nent  of  America,  to  distant  California. 

The  overland  route  had  been  selected  by  his 
benefactor  as  the  safest  and  most  expeditious, 
though  the  most  expensive.  And  -with  the  eager 
ness  of  new-born  hope  did  Eugene  Lincoln,  no 
longer  the  merchant's  clerk,  but  the  independent 
adventurer,  proceed  on  his  enterprise. 

From  Boston  to  New  York,  and  thence  to  Penn 
sylvania's  sister  city,  by  railroad  he  proceeded  ; 
ascending  Lake  Erie,  the  same  steamer  bore 
him  through  the  long  chain  of  inland  seas,  even 
to  the  western  limits  of  Superior.  To  the  great 
Father  of  Waters  the  transition  was  easy :  down 
the  Mississippi  to  its  junction  with  the  Missouri, 
and  from  thence  westward  along  the  latter  river, 
hastened  the  traveller;  and  here,  ht  last  leaving 
the  course  of  that  kingly  stream,  a  stout  prarie 
horse  and  an  Indian  guide  conducted  him  onward, 
by  daily  stages,  along  the  beaten  track  of  Fre 
mont's  celebrated  route  across  the  mountains. 

Onward,  resolutely,  he  pressed ;  days  passed ; 
but  each  one  saw  him  many  leagues  nearer  to  his 
final  destination.  He  calculated  upon  reaching 
San  Francisco  a  week  at  least  in  advance  of  the 
ocean-voyageurs,  and  there  rejoining  them ;  and 
with  a  thrill  of  delighted  feeling  at  length  learned 
he  from  his  guide,  that  they  were  within  seven 
days'  journey  of  their  destination, — and  nothing 
had,  as  yet,  taken  place  to  delay  his  successful 
progress. 

But  man  is  ever  confident — and  little  did  Eu 
gene  Lincoln  anticipate  tne  strange  and  startling 
interruption  he  was  destined  now  to  meet. 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

The  Watchfire  of  the  Gold  Hunters— Dangers  of 
the  Overland  Route —  The  Puma's  Ferocious 
Attack— The  Death  of  the  Indian  Guide— Lin 
coln  Lost  in  the  Wilderness. 

'Hark!  hark!  through  the  jungle 

The  wild  beast  creeps  ; 
Beware,  O  beware  !  when 

The  monster  leaps  !' 

FAR  and  wide,  around  the  traveller,  stretched 
the  green,  level  wilderness  of  a  mighty  prairie. — 
The  day  was  declining — it  had  been  a  clear  and 
brilliant  one  for  that  reason  of  the  year,  even  in 
those  latitudes— and  night-fall  was  approaching. 


Fortune,  so  far,  as  we  have  already  said,  had 
favored  our  overland  adventurer.  Not  that  diffi 
culties  and  obstacles  had  been,  by  any  means,  en 
tirely  avoided ;  but  no  serious  impediments  had 
arisen.  Hardships  and  privations  there  were,  how 
ever,  and  these  presented  themselves  in  the  forms 
so  naturally  to  be  expected,  in  a  far  journey  thro' 
a  wild,  western  wilderness, — and  unsettled  tract 
of  forest  and  prairie  land,  the  hunting-ground  of 
the  savage  and  the  home  of  the  tameless  beast. 

Lincoln  and  his  solitary  companion,  the  guide, 
had  halted  for  the  night,  and  pitched  th'eir  tent; 
which,  with  their  necessary  equipments,  were  car 
ried  by  two  led  horses,  the  travellers  themselves 
mounting  a  couple  of  strong  Indian  ponies,  that 
served  their  purpose  well. 

Two  months  had  nearly  elapsed  since,  leaving 
the  course  of  the  Mississippi,  they  had  commenced 
the  ascent  of  the  Missouri — hundreds  of  miles  to 
the  westward  of  its  extreme  source  they  now  found 
themselves  ;  and  in  th'e  midst  of  the  most  desolate 
region  they  had  yet  entered.  The  very  farthest 
boundaries  of  civilization  seemed  to  have  been 
passed  ;  it  was  many  days  since  the  last  log  house 
of  the  squatter  had  greeted  their  eyes ;  the  terri 
tory  of  the  friendly  tribes  had  sometime  since  been 
left  behind,  and  even  the  roving  red  men  were 
only  rarely  now  to  be  met  with,  and  then  few  in 
number  and  far  between. 

But  little  cared  Lincoln  for  this ;  for  from  his 
fellow-traveller  and  guide  he  had  already  learned 
with  satisfaction,  that  they  were  now  only  about 
seven  days'  journey  from  San  Francisco  and  the 
sea  shore,  and  he  felt,  with  equal  joy,  that  the  de 
serted  aspect  of  the  country  was  but  a  gratifying 
proof  of  his  near  approach  to  the  Pacific  coast. 

The  sun  was  setting  ?is  they  built  the  watch- 
fire  and  prepared  to  cook  their  evening  meal.  The 
latter  consisted  of  a  fal  haunch  of  venison,  a  wel 
come  prize  from  a  noble  buck,  the  Indian  had  an 
hour  before  shot ;  and  screened  from  the  cold  night 
air  by  the  thick  folds  of  their  tent,  they  made  as 
grateful  a  repast  in  that  wild  prairie  as  ever  bless 
ed  the  pampered  palate  of  the  most  fastidious  epi 
cure.  But  ere,  tired  and  weary  though  they  were, 
either  retired  after  this  refreshment  to  repose, 
there  were  certain  precautions  to  be  taken,  which 
the  safety  of  both  rendered  absolutely  necessary. 

In  their  whole  course  through  the  prairie,  and 
ever  since  they  had  left  the  last  outposts  of  civi 
lization,  they  had  been  annoyed  during  night,  and 
their  safety  continually  jeopardized  by  the  wild 
beasts  with  which  that  region  was  infested. 

To  secure  themselves  against  these  nocturnal 
visitors,  they  had  been  compelled  to  gather  around 
their  nightly  halting  places  a  perfect  wall  of  wood 
and  rubbish,  which  was  fired  and  left  to  burn, 
watched  by  one  of  the  two  companions  while  the 
other  slept;  each  taking  his  turn  in  tending  the 
fire,  lighted  to  frighten  all  beasts  of  prey  from  too 
close  proximily. 

A  sufficiency,  however,  of  sticks  and  other  com 
bustible  matter  had  already  been  collected  ;  and 


KIT  CARSON. 


59 


surrounding  themselves  by  this  blazing  rampart 
of  defence,  they  spread  their  skin  couches  in  se 
curity.  As  it  was  necessary  to  use  the  utmost 
precaution  in  keeping  alive  the  fire,  only  Lincoln, 
at  first,  retired  to  rest,  it  being,  as  usual,  arranged 
that,  at  a  certain  hour,  the  Indian  should  awaken 
him,  when  they  were  to  exchange  situations. 

Greatly  refreshed  by  this  simple  prairie  repast, 
after  a  day's  hard  travel,  and  feeling  the  want  of 
repose,  the  traveller  did  not  suflfer  his  reflections 
to  detain  him  long  from  invigorating  slumber  — 
though  his  very  last  waking  thought  was  one  of 
satisfaction  that  he  was  so  near  his  journey's  end. 

His  last  glance,  as  he  lay  gazing,  with  a  sensa 
tion  of  exquisite  comfort  at  the  blazing  fire,  was 
fixed  upon  the  figure  of  the  dusky  guide  ;  who 
sat  crouching  on  his  hams  before  the  burning  em 
bers,  his  copper-colored  complexion  and  strongly- 
marked  features  reflecting,  like  the  face  of  some 
bronze  statue,  the  red  glow  of  the  crackling 
flames ;  as  with  his  right  hand  the  Indtan  stir 
red  the  fire,  while,  with  the  left,  he  took  long  and 
frequent  draughts  of  brandy  from  a  rude,  deer 
skin  flask,  inlaid  with  some  gummy  preparation 
that  rendered  it  impervious  to  liquids.  And,  in 
deed,  never  was  stimulant  more  needed  ;  for  the 
day  had  been  one  of  unusual  fatigue,  incurred  in 
fording  a  river  but  a  few  miles  back,  and  Avith  a 
half-night's  tedious  Avatch  before  him,  he  required 
its  support. 

The  wearied  traveller,  meanwhile,  slept.  The 
taciturn  Indian,  occasionally  pausing  to  look  at 
his  slumbering  companion,  drew  forth  his  pipe, 
and  chaunting  now  and  then  a  broken  fragment  of 
a  savage  war-song,  abandoned  himself  to  the 
double  delight  of  smoking  and  drinking.  Still, 
with  the  red  man's  caution,  he  relaxed  not  his  vi 
gilance  ;  but  at  frequent  intervals  stopped  to  en 
liven  the  fire,  and  add  a  log  or  two  to  the  still 
burning  mass. 

It  Avas  to  be  remarked,  however,  that  these  in 
tervals  became  gradually  longer,  his  limbs  be 
came  less  readily  to  the  repeated  task,  and  his 
head  began  almost  insensibly  to  sway  to  and  fro, 
with  a  dull,  monotonous  movement. 

The  night  wore  on.  The  sleeping  traveller 
continued  to  repose — the  Avatch-fire  to  burn  bright 
ly  as  before.  The  only  sounds  to  be  heard,  thro' 
the  stillness  of  the  night,  were  the  occasional 
neighing  of  the  horses,  that  Avere  at  rest  within 
the  enclosure,  protected,  like  their  masters,  by  the 
blazing  circle  that  surrounded  them  ;  or,  from  the 
darkened  prairie  without,  the  howl  of  some  wild 
beast,  attracted  near  by  the  illumination,  but  like 
wise  deterred  by  it  from.  Venturing  within  the  ring. 

Once  or  twice,  indeed,  the  cries  of  these  dan 
gerous  neighbors  were  heard  close  at  hand,  and 
their  shifting  outlines  dimly  to  be  discerned,  not 
ten  feet  distant  »from  'the  watch-fire  ;  but  thus 
guarded,  the  travellers  Avere  in  no  danger.  And 
in  this  manner  slowly  Avaned  the  long  night. 

Suddenly  a  rude  shock  broke  the  rest  of  the 
sleeping  traveller.  He  awoke,  started  up,  bound 


ed  to  his  feet,  with  the  dreamy,  indistinct  percep 
tion  of  a  rushing  sound,  a  human  cry,  a  deafening 
roar. 

Appalled,  dreading  he  scarce  knew  Avhat,  Lin 
coln  dashed  aside  the  hangings  of  the  rude  tent, 
and  Leaped  forth  into  the  centre  of  the  enclosure. 

All  Avas  silence  and  darkness  there  ! — the  watch- 
lire  had  gone  out ! 

'Merciful  God!'  he  thought,  '  what  can  have 
happened  ?' 

He  could  feel  the  wild  throbbings  of  his  beat 
ing  heart,  as  he  bent  down  over  the  smoking  em 
bers,  and  tried  to  fan  into  a  flame  the  faint  blaze 
of  a  feAv  live  coals  that  still  remained,  like  the  last 
lingering  stars  in  the  firmament,  the  remnant  of 
the  gloAving  watchfire  that  burned  so  brilliantly 
beneath  his  last  Avaking  look. 

With  a  husky  voice  he  called  on  the  name  of 
the  guide, — '  Wampa  !  Wampa !  In  God's  name 
answer !'  No  Warnpa's  well-known  tongue  replied. 

The  dying  embers,  heaped  together,  at  that  mo 
ment  burst  into  a  blaze — he  caught  up  a  half- 
burnt  faggot,  and  cast  it  among  the  hot  coals — it 
in  turn,  kindled,  and  threw  up  a  bright  light  over 
the  *  camping-ground.'  The  Kulian  Avas  not  there. 

What  could  this  mean  ?  Lincoln  dared  not  ask 
himself. 

The  increasing  light  flashed  yet.  more  brightly 
around ;  and  then,  as  Lincoln  stooped  one  mo 
ment  down,  his  steadfast  scrutiny  bent  on  the 
ground,  he  saw,  along  the  wide  bed  of  smoulder 
ing  ashes,  along  the  Avhitened  surface  of  the  earth, 
clear  and  distinct,  and  but  too  palpable  —  the 
streaming  traces  of  human  blood,  the  deep  inden 
tations  of  four  enormous  feet,  and,  beside  the  lat 
ter,  the  marks  as  of  some  heavy  body  dragged 
swiftly  across  ! 

The  dripping  gore,  the  tracks  of  a  quadruped 
in  the  blood-stained  ashes,  the  signs  of  a  burden 
borne  away;  all  told  with  dreadful  plainness,  to 
the  traveller,  the  fate  of  his  hapless  guide ! 

On  the  ground  where  the  Indian  had  last  been 
sitting,  beside  a  pool  of  blood,  lay  the  brandy  flask, 
which  had  cheered  his  midnight  vigil.  It  was 
empty — it  told  its  own  tale. 

The  poor  Indian,  from  his  excessive  and  un 
usual  fintigne,  had  doubtless  found  himself  forced 
to  stimulate  his  exhausted  energies  by  increasing 
the  quantity  of  his  accustomed  draughts,  until 
they  ended  in  gradual  exhaustion  and  intoxication; 
and  in  this  state  of  partial  oblivion  and  helpless 
ness,  it  was  plain  he  must  have  suffered  the  fire 
unconsciously  to  be  extinguished — thus  removing 
the  barrier  that  had  interposed  its  friendly  protec 
tion  from  the  savage  animals  that  prowled  around. 

The  fearful  finale  Avas  no  less  evident — some 
one  of  these  terrors  of  the  prairie,  scenting  its 
prey,  and  no  longer  held  back  by  the  fire,  had 
leaped  the  enclosure,  and  seizing  on  the  first  living 
object,  in  its  course,  had  borne  off  the  defenceless 
Indian,  of  course  incapnble  of  resistance,  now  a 
rn'.nifrled  feast  for  the  beast  of  prey. 

Everything  indicated  that  fearful  intruder  to 


60 


KIT  CARSON. 


have  been  an  animal  of  enormous  size  and  power; 
but  to  what  description  of  quadrupeds  it  belonged, 
Lincoln  had  not  the  experience  adequate  to  decide. 
But  might  it  not  have  committed  yet  greater  ra 
vages  yet  unknown  to  him  ?  He  thought  of  the 
horses,  and  with  a  thrill  of  wild  apprehension  he 
turned  toward  that  quarter  of  the  enclosure  occu 
pied  by  them. 

There,  huddled  in  one  frightened  group  to 
gether,  trembling  and  shivering,  with  ears  laid 
flat  against  their  heads,  their  limbs  incapable  of 
motion,  save  the  quivering  of  fear,  stood  .the  ob 
jects  of  .his  inquiring  glance.  The  sight  told 
volumes  of  the  dread  characters  of  the  encamp 
ment's  late  invader.  But  there  was  no  time  for 
reflection';  even  as  he  thus  gazed,  suddenly  he  fee- 
held,  first  one  and  then  another  of  the  horses  break 
"suddenly  away,  leap  forward,  then  as  abruptly  re 
coil,  quaking  in  every  limb — their  nostrils  dilated 
and  snuffing  convulsively  at  the  night  air.  There 
was  a  sound  like  rushing  feet,  and  then  a  terrific 
roar. 

A  shrill  neigh  of  terror  broke  from  the  affright 
ed  horses,  who  had  scented  the  coming  of  their 
enemy — it  was  the  wild  animal,  returning  from  his 
den  to  bear  thither  a  second  prey  ! 

Before  Lincoln  could  rush  to  the  tent  —  before 
he  could  grasp  a  weapon  of  defence,  the  returning 
animal  had  reached  the  spot,  cleared  the  enclosure, 
and  taken  its  leap.  He  had  just  time  to  pluck  up 
a  firebrand  from  the  midst  of  the  few  re-kindled 
embers,  as  the  animal  appeared. 

Instantaneous  death  fully  expected,  he  yet  re 
tained  presence  of  mind  sufficient  to  wave  the 
burning  brand  before  the  eyes  of  the  leaping 
beast,  that  made  its  last  grand  spring  right  at  the 
spot  on  which  he  stood. 

It  was  an  instant  of  intense  horror — there  was 
a  rushing  in  the  atmosphere,  like  the  hurricane 
passage  of  a  cannon  ball — he  felt  himself  hurled, 
with  a  wild  shock,  backward  to  the  earth — he 
turned,  as  he  thought,  his  last  despairing  glance 
upward  at  the  heaven  above,  at  the  world  around, 

and the  beast  had  passed  over  his  head,  over 

turning  him  in  its  way,  as  it  leaped  among  the 
cowering  horses  behind  ! 

A  shriek  of  agony,  an  almost  human  sob,  from 
the  doomed  steed  on  whose  back  the  destroying 
beast  had  sprung — and  then  the  noise  of  a  des 
perate  struggle,  followed  by  the  gushing  sound  of 
spurting  blood,  and  the  horse,  with  its  jugular 
artery  severed,  its  life-current  draining  fast,  was 
dragged,  with  fierce  growls,  over  the  enclosure, 
and  rapidly  disappeared  from  before  its  master's 
eyes,  in  the  surrounding  obscurity  ;  proving  how 
monstrous  must  be  the  strength  of  the  animal  that 
inflicted  its  dying  agonies. 

What  were,  what  must  have  been  the  feelings 
of  the  survivor !  The  terrible  visitor  had  disap 
peared  again  with  his  prey  ;  but  was  it  not  that  he 
might  convey  this  new  victim  to  his  lair  ? — and 
would  he  not  a  third  time  return  ? 

The  thought  was  dreadful ;  still  it  was  but  too 


reasonable.  And  like  a  brave  man  did  he  prepare 
for  the  emergency.  Many  moments  would  proba 
bly  pass  ere  the  dreaded  return  was  Jo  be  expect 
ed  ;  his  only  safety  lay,  evidently  in  so  improving 
that  time,  as  to  re- kindle  the  fire  which  had  been 
Irs  safeguard.  It  was  no  light  task  to  collect  the 
necessary  fuel ;  but  quickly  he  had  encircled  the 
camp  with  a  wall  of  blazing  faggots,  and  soon  the 
gold-seeker's  watch-fire,  in  its  pristine  brilliancy, 
once  more  its  burning  zone  displayed. 

Safe  once  again  within  its  charmed  circle, 
Eugene  Lincoln  had  leisure  now  to  seek,  within 
the  tent,  for  the  arms  with  which  he  was  of  course 
provided.  Just  within  the  flaming  wall  he  then 
took  his  station,  with  a  heavy  horse-pistol  in  one 
hand,  another  in  his  belt,  and  a  long  bowie-knife 
between  his  teeth.  And  thus  armed,  thus  pre 
pared,  awaited  he  for  the  first  signal  of  the  ani 
mal's  third  re -appearance,  which  he  resolved 
should  be  the  last ! 

Hark  !  how  the  prairie-grass  crackles—how  the 
tall  spears  wave,  and  the  dry  sticks  snap  in  pieces 
beneath  that  swift  tread.  The  ravenous  beast  re 
turns  to  finish  his  bloody  feast.  With  one  rapid 
succession  of  long  bounds,  onward  he  comes — 
then  the  ears  of  Lincoln  were  almost  deafened  by 
the  howl  of  furious  disappointment  with  which  the 
rapacious  animal  meets  the  fiery  barrier  in  his  path. 

Scenting  his  prey,  and  enraged  at  the  obstacle, 
round  and  round  the  flame-walled  enclosure  circled 
the  powerful  brute  ;  seeking  in  vain  for  some  inlet 
in  that  glowing  rampart.  Repeatedly  he  ventured 
close  to  the  flames,  then  backed  as  often  ;  intimi 
dated  by  that  element  which  is  the  devouring 
scourge  of  the  prairie.  Once,  indeed,  furious  at 
being  so  long  baffled,  the  enraged  beast  actually 
made  an  attempt  to  leap  the  fire,  but,  fell  back,  se 
verely  scorched,  and  burnt,  and  retired,  gnashing 
his  teeth  with  impotent  vengeance.  He  soon  came 
back,  however;  not  as  Lincoln  had  expected,  to 
renew  his  efforts;  but  to  lay  himself  quietly  down, 
within  a  safe  distance  from  the  fire,  where  he 
stretched  himself  out  at  full  length,  and  remained 
with  his  head  resting  upon  his  paws ;  and  his  red 
eyes  steadily  fixed  on  the  traveller  within  the 
ring. 

This  action  alarmed  the  latter  far  more  than  the 
most  desperate  attempts  of  the  animal  to  reach 
him.  He  saw  at  once  that  his  enemy,  perceiving 
the  uselessness  of  such  endeavors,  had,  with  brute 
sagacity,  laid  himself  down,  patiently  to  await  the 
time  when  the  traveller's  fuel  should  become  ex 
hausted,  and  the  fire  to  die  away,  for  want  of  fuel. 

To  Lincoln  it  was  plain,  that,  in  such  an  event, 
he  would  be  completely  at  the  mercy  of  his  pitiless 
foe.  It  was  yet,  he  calculated,  three  hours  until 
sunrise,  the  guardi«n  fire  could  not  be  more  than 
an  hour  longer  sustained,  with  his  present  fuel — 
nor,  in  the  presence  of  his  watchful  enemy,  could 
he  increase  his  stock.  The  only  course  lettto  en 
sure  his  safety  was  by  ridding  himself  of  his  for 
midable  neighbor.  How  to  contrive  this,  how  ever, 
was  his  grand  difficulty. 


KIT    CARSON. 


61 


He  determined  to  trust  to  chance  and  Provi 
dence,  which  so  often  befriend  the  brave  soul ;  and 
to  a  lucky  shot.  The  reason  that  he  had  not  be 
fore  made  use  of  hid  weapons  was,  the  gloom  in 
which  the  animal's  position  outside  the  fire  had 
enveloped  it,  and  the  uncertainty  which  this  must 
give  to  his  aim  ;  and  Lincoln  had  not  been  igno 
rant  that  the  effect  of  a  slight  wound  upon  most 
wild  beasts  is  to  incite  them  to  the  most  savage 
pitch  of  fury  and  desperation. 

He  thought  a  moment  and  determined  to  risk 
all  upon  one  grand  hazard.  Steadily  raising  his 
pistol  he  fired, — not  at  the  animal,  but  over  his 
head.  The  result  fully  answered  his  hopes ;  his 
four-footed  friend  rose  to  hi<  feet,  startled  by  the 
flash  and  report,  but  his  wrath  unexcited  by  a 
wound,  and  slowly  and  cautiously  advanced  as 
close  to  the  fire  as  comfort  would  allow  ;  seeming 
ly  bent  on  satisfying  himself  as  to  the  nature  of 
the  interruption. 

Now  was  the  critical  moment ! 

Lincoln  waited  until  the  animal  was  so  near 
that,  from  the  dark  shaggy  outline  of  his  mon 
strous  body,  he  could  se.Tthe  fierce  glitter  of  two 
burning  eyes,  that  o  itshone,  in  piercing  brilliancy, 
the  living  coals  of  the  watch-fire. 

Summoning  his  natural  nerve  and  self-posses 
sion,  full  in  the  eye  he  looked  the  infuriated  beast, 
never  once  removing  his  steadfast  gaze  ;  while 
slowly  he  lifted  his  second  pistol,  lifted  it,  till  both 
it  and  those  glowing  orbs  met  in  the  focus  of  that 
unanswering  glance;  a  light  finger  pressed  the 
trigger,  arid  again  the  report  of  a  pistol  rang, 
stunningly,  on  the  air. 

An  unearthly  yell  followed  the  flash,  a  gurgling 
sound  succeeded  to  a  heavy  fall,  and  silence 
wrapped  the  camp. 

Only  for  a  moment  did  Lincoln  pause,  and  then 
tearing  away  p  portion  of  the  blazing  wall,  sprang 
outside  the  fiery  circle.  His  ferocious  enemy  had 
fallen,  with  a  bullet  through  the  eye-ball,  sent 
hoaie  LO  the  brain. 

Dragging  the  dead  body  of  the  beast  still  closer 
to  the  fire-light,  its  slayer  bent  down  to  examine 
the  enor  nous  carcase.  The  animal  that  he  had 
slain  was  none  other  than  an  immense  puma,  some 
times  termed  by  naturalists  '  the  American  Lion !' 
and  as  he  made  the  discovery,  he  was  no  longer 
surprised  at  the  astonishing  strength  and  courage 
it  had  displayed. 

But  though  now  fairly  rid  of  the  puma,  Lin 
coln's  trouble's  were  not  yet  ended.  When  morn 
ing  came,  with  it  came  also  the  distressing  knowl 
edge  of  a  situation  as  novel  as  it  was  embarrassing. 

He  was  alone  in  the  heart  of  a  wild  prarie  with 
no  particular  road  to  follow — deprived,  by  death, 
of  his  guide,  and  totally  ignorant  of  the  route  he 
was  now  left  to  pursue.  However,  he  was  but  a 
few  day's  journey  from  his  destination,  this,  un 
deniably  was  in  his  favor ;  ho  could  pursue  a  di 
rect  course  forward,  and  trust  to  Providence  and 
his  own  sagacity  to  guide  him. 

At  daybreak,  therefore,  after  a  hasty  meal,  sad 


dling  the  horse  of  the  ill-fated  Indian — it  was  his 
own  that  had  perished  so  miserably— -he  furled  his 
tent  and  placed  it  on  the  b;ick  of  one  of  the  pack- 
horses,  re-loading  th  other  beasts  of  burden  with 
the  provisions,  of  which  he  had  yet  a  moderate 
store  ;  then,  though  wholly  unacquainted  with  the 
route,  known  only  to  his  guide,  tne  hunters  and 
savages,  set  forward  with  a  stout  heart  in  the  di 
rection  of  the  setting  sun. 

Halting  each  night  for  several  successive  days, 
singly  and  alone,  he  pitched  his  tent,  secured  his 
horses,  and  built  his  fire:  adopting  the  precaution 
to  collect  an  ample  sufficiency  of  fuel  to  last  till 
the  morning  dawned — by  which  means  he  took 
care  to  guaid  effectually  against  the  terrible  fate 
to  which  his  unfortunate  guide's  carelessness  had 
subjected  him. 

Thus  he  proceeded — and  always  journeying 
with  the  sun,  westward,  which  he  argued  must 
bring  him,  sooner  or  later,  to  the  Pacific  shore. 

But  at  length,  in  some  intricate  mountain  pass 
es  he  became  bewildered  ;  the  seven  days'  journey 
predicted  by  the  guide,  on  the  night  of  his  death, 
had  already  lengthened  itself  to  twelve  ;  and  he 
observed,  with  uneasiness,  that  none  of  the  natu 
ral  indications  of  the  near  proximity  to  the  ocean 
were  to  be  perceived. 

Part  of  this  time  had  been  taken  up  in  the 
threading  the  mazes  of  a  dense  pine  forest,  from 
which  he  had  Emerged  again  into  the  serpentine 
mountain  gorges,  and  after  three  days  more  of 
persevering  progress,  he  issued  thence  upon  the 
banks  of  a  river,  that  wound  like  a  silver  thread 
through  the  highland  scenery. 

4  The  Sacramento !  The  Sacramento  /' 

Burst  with  a  thril.  of  joy  ecstatic  from  his 
breathless  lips,  for  he  deemed  it  the  precious  wa 
ters  of  the  golden  El  Dorada.' 

*  Joy  !  joy  ! — I  arn  on  the  boundaries  of  the  Gold 
Region !' 

But  suddenly  he  halted — gazed  wildly,  fearfully 
around — recoiled  from  the  sparkling  water,  as  if  it 
had  been  a  poisoned  chalice. — He  had  made  a 
maddening  discovery. 

In  ihe  supposed  Sacramento  he  recognised  the 
same  river  he  had  forded  the  very  day  of  the  mem 
orable  catastrophe,  more  than  fifteen  days  before! 

The  stunning  truth  flashed  full  upon  him — he 
had  lost  his  way  among  the  mountains,  followed 
his  own  path  backward  through  the  forest,  and  ar 
rived  at  the  self-same  spot  from  whence  he  had 
started,  full  a  fortnight  previous! 

'Doomed— doomed  of  Heaven!  my  provisions 
exhausted,  my  way  hopelessly  lost — I  shall  die  in 
the  wilderness!'  moaned  the  despairing  adventur 
er,  as  he  sunk  in  hopeless  despondency  upon  the 
mistaken  river's  side,  in  sight  of  the  deserted 
watch-fire,  where  the  hapless  Wampa  had  met  his 
death,  and  the  puma  had  perished  \ 


62 


KIT  CARSON. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Another  Thrilling  Adventure— The  Indians— The 
Pursuit — Kit  Carson,  the  Prince  of  the  Gold 
Hunters — The  Stratagem  of  the  Savages. 


. 


'But  who  that  chief?  his  name  on  every  shore 
famed  and  feared — they,  ask  and  know  no  more.' 

— BYRON. 


ENTIRELY  unconscious  our  unfortunate  friend 
Lincoln  remained,  for  how  long  a  time  he  knew 
not,  neither  do  we  know;  and  but  for  a  single,  un 
locked  for  incident,  it  is  more  than  probable  he 
would  have  awaited,  in  the  hopeless  inanition  of 
despair,  for  death  to  come  to  his  relief,  and  thus 
spare  him  the  horrors  of  an  existence  dragged  out 
in  all  the  tortures  of  slow  starvation. 

Providence,  whose  ways  are  ever  inscrutable, 
is  said  to  interpose  oftenest  when  *hope  has  given 
place  to  utter  despondency ;  and  yet,  in  the  pre 
sent  instance,  (hat  interposition — if  interposition 
of  Providence  it  was,  came  in  a  strange  shape. 

When  first  aroused,  the  despairing  and  hopeless 
man  to  outward  objects  once  more,  was  the  con 
fused  sound  of  discordant  voices,  intermingled 
in  a  strange  chorus  of  cries  and  yells,  and  the 
hurried  trampling  of  many  feet  around. 

Suddenly  opening  his  eyes  to  the  light  and 
blinded  by  it  as  he  staggered  to  Ms  feet,  it  was 
fully  a  moment  before  he  could  see  &ny  surround 
ing  objects  clearly.  But,  ere  he  did  so,  a  yell,  so 
wild,  so  shrill,  so  deafening  that  it  almost  stunned 
him,  broke  suddenly  on  his  astonished  ears. 

Dashing  his  hands  instinctively  across  his  eyes 
to  dispel  the- mist  that  hung  before  them,  the  sight 
that  his  vision  the  next  moment  took  in,  caused 
him  to  recoil,  with  a  bound,  from  the  spot. 

Around,  on  every  side,  he  beheld  himself  en 
circled  by  a  troop  of  wild  figures,  in  fan'astic  and 
savage  costumes,  who  were  dancing  about  him 
and  gesticulating  with  every  sign  of  ferocious  de 
light.  It  was  by  a  war  tribe  of  Indians  that  he 
was  surrounded ;  and  the  dreadful  yell  that  he  had 
just  heard,  was  the  thrilling  war-whoop  of  the 
American  aborigines. 

It  was  uttered  just  as  he  tottered  to  his  feet — 
for  the  Indians,  it  seemed,  from  his  former  motion 
less  and  prostrate  position,  had  supposed  him  dead. 
Convinced  by  his  sudden  rise,  of  their  mistake, 
they  closed  up,  with  fresh  shouts,  around  him, 
completely  hemming  him  in ! 

He  had  seen  but  few  of  the  red  race,  and  these 
only  the  friendly  tribes  through  whose  territory  he 
had  passed  on  the  Missouri  frontier;  but  he  had 
read  much  of  the  aboriginal  character  and  habits, 
and  he  knew  at  once,  from  their  fantastic  dress 
and  painted  faces,  that  he  had,  unfortunately,  fallen 
in  with  a  war  party.  He  saw  that  it  was  with  a 
savage  tribe,  unfriendly  to  the  whites,  he  had  now 
to  deal ;  and  was  aware  that  he  must  expect  the 
worst.  His  capture,  he  believed,  wonld  be  but  the 
precursor  of  his  death  ;  and  with  this  peril  came 


back  the  love  of  existence,  the  desire  of  lifo. 

One  quick,  flashing  glance  he  sent  around  him  ; 
his  heart  sunk  within  him  as  that  look  took  in  the 
score  of  savage  forms,  with  their  deadly  weapons 
and  war-paint,  encompassing  him  as  in  a  net. — 
Escape,  it  was  evident  to  him  was  impossible — 
but  he  felt  convinced  his  life  might  be  for  the  pre 
sent  safe,  that  he  would  only  be  reserved  for  his 
final  doom,  and  that  by  tortures  the  most  fearful. 
He  determined,  therefore,  since  to  elude  them  was 
hopeless,  to  take  his  life  at  once,  and  thus  by  a 
suddon  and  speedy  death,  avoid  the  tortures  which 
otherwise  would  be  in  store  for  him. 

Thus  desperately  resolving,  just  as  an  aged 
chief  advanced ,  with  signs  of  amity,  from  the 
throng,  he  waited  only  until  the  Indian  was  within 
a  few  feet  of  him,  then,  springing  suddenly  upon 
him,  he  snatched  the  tomahawk  from  his  belt,  and 
dashing  swiftly  past  the  surprised  old  man,  cut  his 
way,  in  a  single  instant,  through  the  startled  sa 
vages,  who  immediately  gave  way  before  the 
whirling  hatchet,  which  took  them  completely  un 
awares.  The  living  wall  was  broken  as  if  by  ma 
gic,  and  Lincoln  darted  beyond  the  group  that 
surrounded  him,  and  fled  with  a  fleet  foot  down 
the  course  of  the  river  which  he  had  mistaken  for 
the  Sacramento. 

The  flying  man  looked  behind  him ;  and  a  score 
of  sinewy  forms  were  in  pursuit,  and  a  score  of 
barbed  arrows  were  drawn  to  the  head.  Internal 
ly  he  blessed  Heaven  for  it — it  was  the  death  he 
sought.  But  the  same  Heaven  willed  it  other 
wise.  The  voice  of  the  old  chief,  who  had  been 
so  daringly  despoiled  of  his  tomahawk,  was  now 
heard  calling,  in  a  peremptory  tone,  to  his  party. 

He  spoke  in  the  Indian  tone,  words  incompre 
hensible  to  Lincoln  ;  but  the  latter  conjecturing 
their  meaning,  when  a  second  backward  glance 
shewed  him  that  each  upraised  tomahawk  and 
pointed  arrow  were  lowered,  thougn  still  every 
one  of  the  pursuers  kept  on  upon  his  track — their 
object  was  to  take  him  alive. 

He  knew  it,  he  saw  it—  and  in  the  self  same 
breath  determined  that  it  should  not  be.  On,  on 
along  the  river's  margin  he  fled — on,  still  on,  until 
he  should  come  to  a  convenient  spot  for  the  exe 
cution  of  his  purpose  ;  while  onward,  likewise 
onward,  yet  faster,  and  each  moment  gaining  on 
him,  came  the  yelling  Indians. 

He  saw  that  he  was  losing  ground,  and  soon 
must  be  overtaken.  Suddenly  he  paused — halted 
— turned  on  the  river's  side ;  his  pursuers  uttered 
a  simultaneous  shout  of  triumph;  they  believed 
he  was  'about  to  surrender— they  were  deceived. 
One  bold,  headlong  plunge,  one  reckless  leap  from 
the  brink  of  the  stream,  and  the  pursued  dived 
beneath  the  water,  arid  ten  feet  from  the  spot,  re 
appeared  upon  the  surface. 

The  reader  will  have  anticipated,  already,  his 
purpose.  It  was  to  swim  the  river  as  long  as  ex 
hausted  nature  would  allow,  and  then  perish  by 
drowning  rather  than  fall  into  their  hands  ! 

One  after   another,  full  a  dozen  of  the  Indiana 


KIT  CARSON. 


63 


plunged  into  the  stream  after  the  fugitive.  They 
were~  accustomed  to  the  element,  and  swam  like 
ducks,  in  comparison  with  the  latter,  who  was  im 
peded  by  the  neavy  clothes,  and,  though  a  skillful 
swimmer,  made  hut  indifferent  progress.  Still,  he 
had  the  start  of  them,  and  having  succeeded,  hy 
a  dexterous  manoeuvre  in  freeing  himself  of  his 
cumbrous  hoots,  he  held  his  way  steadily  for  no 
inconsiderable  distance.  Nevertheless,  he  swam 
under  fearful  disadvantages,  and  the  most  active 
of  his  pursuers  were  coming,  at  every  stroke, 
closer  upon  him.  He  redoubled  his  exertions,  he 
strained  every  nerve  ;  the  foremost  savage  was 
Avithin  his  length  of  him — could  almost  touch  him. 
Completely  exhausted,  incapable  of  further  ex 
ertion,  the  hunted  swimmer  threw  up  his  arms, 
gave  one  last  look  to  Heaven,  and  then  sunk  be 
neath  the  surface,  just  as  the  foremost  savage 
reached  his  hand  to  seize  him. 

The  waves  of  the  river,  the  forest  around, 
echoed  to  the  sharp  crack  of  the  rifle,  and  the 
foremost  pursuer  rolled  a  corpse  upon  his  back. 

Ere  the  death-yell  of  the  slain  Indian  had  been 
borne  on  the  breath  of  the  wind  past  the  savages 
in  his  rear,  there  Avas  a  deep-voiced  hurrah  from 
the  opposite  bank,  and  then  a  sudden  splash,  as 
the  form  of  a  man  plunged  headforemost  into  the 
river,  and  swam  under  Avater  to  the  scene  of  the 
blood-crimsoned  Avaters,  escaping  by  this  means 
the  shower  of  arrows  that  darkened  the  air,  dis 
charged  at  him  from  the  shore  on- which  the  larger 
portion  of  the  savages  had  remained  ;  but  who,  on 
the  death  of  the  foremost  of  the  pursuing  swim 
mers,  Avith  yells  of  vengeance  also  took  the  Avater, 
to  the  aid  of  their  comrades,  the  old  chief  follow 
ing  last. 

The  next  moment  the  mnn  whose  shot  had  been 
the  Indian's  death-warrant,  Avas  visible  for  an 
instant  at  the  surface,  as  he  rose  for  air,  Avith  the 
exhausted  form  of  the  half-drowned  Lincoln  in  his 
arms,  and  then  boldly  and  stoutly,  Avith  his  burden 
skillfully  sustained,  struck  out  for  the  neighboring 
shore, — reached  it,  and  laid  the  fellow- being  he 
had  saved  on  the  sod. 

Gasping,  in  partial  strangulation,  for  a  moment 
or  two,  the  poor  youth  was  scarce  conscious  until 
he  felt  its  restorative  properties,  that  a  draught  of 
brandy  had  been  poured,  by  *the  same  friendly 
hand,  down  his  throat ;  tlu>  invigorating  effect  was 
immediate,  and  by  a  strong  effort  ho  10.  e  stagger 
ing  to  his  feet,  still  struggling  for  air  and  breath 
to  ejaculate,  brokingly, — 

*  Who — who  are  you,  kind  sir  ?  God — God 
bless  you !  You — you  have  saved  my  life  !' 

He  had  but  time  to  see  that  his  gallant  pre 
server  was  a  man  of  powerful  proportions  and 
Herculean  stature,  dressed  in  the  rude  deer  skin 
euit  of  a  western  hunter,  when  a  grasp  of  the  arm 
from  his  Heaven-sent  friend  called  his  attention 
to  the  river  and  the  foe,  from  death  by  both  of 
which  he  had  been  so  marvellously  reprieved. 

He  heard,  too,  the  voice  of  the  hunter,  in  a  clear, 
full  tone,  Avith  the  frontierman's  accent, — 


'  See,  stranger !  there  the  red  devils  come. — 
Take  another  pull  at  the  liquor,  and  keep  a  keen 
eye  ahead — you'll  need  both  soon.  The  critters 
are  after  us,  there's  no  mistake.  Hold  my  powder 
horn  for  me,  stranger,  while  I  jest  pick  off  a 
couple  of  these  infarnal  varmints,  Avith  Old  Sac- 
j'itmento  /' 

And  as,  in  this  easy,  unconcerned  Avay,  he 
spoke,  true  to  his  Avord,  he  levelled  his  rifle  at  one 
of  the  advancing  savages,  noAv  nearly  abreast  in 
the  middle  of  the  river,  rnd  rapidly  making  for 
the  shore  Avhere  stood  the  hunter;  Avho,  marking 
his  victim,  Avith  unerring  aim,  fired. 

The  next  instant  Avas  the  savage's  last,  and  the 
waters  of  the  peaceful  river  Avere  crimsoned  Avith 
the  lift-blood  of  a  second  red  man.  The  rifle  of 
the  stout  hunter  Avas  double-barrelled,  and  imme 
diately  turning  the  muzzle  on  a  third  foe,  he  dis 
charged  the  remaining  bullet  with  the  same  dead 
ly  effect  of  their  predecessors. 

The  Indians,  yelling  like  so  many  demons,  in 
furiated  at  the  doath  of  their  three  ill-fated  com 
rades,  eager  to  avenge  their  doom,  strained  every 
sinew  to  reach  the  bank,  but  the  river  Avas  Avide, 
the  hunter's  eye  Avas  quick,  and  his  bullet  ever  true. 

Loading  and  re-loading,  again  and  again,  Avith 
the  Avonderful  celerity  of  long  experience,  one 
after  another,  he  picked  off  seven  more  of  the 
howling  savages,  coolly  reserving  his  fire,  in  each 
instance,  until  the  breast  of  the  intended  victim 
was,  at  every  other  moment  raised,  in  the  act  of 
respiration,  above  the  surface,  Avhen,  straight  to 
the  exposed  mark,  ere  again  it  AVQS  submerged,  in 
making  the  forward  stroke,  the  eagle  eye  and  sure 
hand  sent  the  lead  quivering  home. 

The  skill,  the  cool  courage,  the  inflexible  reso 
lution  of  the  strange  hunter,  filled  the  excited 
Lincoln  with  admiration  ;ind  surprise.  He  could 
scarce  believe  his  senses  as  he  beheld,  one  by  one, 
the  numbers  of  the  savages  thinned  so  rapidly, 
and  heard  the  mournful  lamentations  of  the  sur 
vivors  over  their  fallen  braves,  and  then  well-nigh 
superhuman  howls  of  hate  and  vengeance  that 
followed  as  they  struggled  yet  more  desperately  to 
gain  the  shore,  Avhich  the  nearest  had  now  nearly 
reached. 

'  Havk'ye,  stranger,'  cried  the  deep  voice  of  the 
hunter,  hurried,  'in  a  minute  more  AVC  shall  have 
the  pesky  red-skins  on  us.  The  born  devils  swim 
like  sea  otters — their  turn  is  corning  now — and, 
what's  more,  they  know  it.' 
*  Ha !'  cried  Lincoln,  *  is  there  no  way  of  escape  ?' 

But  ere  there  Avas  time  for  an  answer  the  most 
brief,  a  tomahaAvk  was  seen  whizzing  tbmagb  Ike 
air,  as  the  first  Indian  gained  the  dry  land,  pass 
ing,  A\ith  fearful  rapidity  close  to  the  head  of  the 
hunter,  Avho  had  coolly  bent  his  neck  as  he  mark 
ed  the  enemy's  purpose  and  saAv  the  murderous 
missile  flashing  in  the  sunlight,  suffering  it  pass 
by,  where,  but  for  the  sudden  movement  it  Avould 
have  brained  him. 

'  Quick  !  quick!  look  to  your  pistols,  sir,'  cried 
the  intended  victim  of  the  iron  messenger,  as  he 


64 


Kit  CARSON. 


dropped  his  purposed  murderer  dead  on  the  bank, 
up  which  the  Indians  were  scrambling1. 

'Quick,'  he  added,  *  and  I  hope  your  pistols  will 
stand  you  in  as  good  stead  as  Old  Sacramento  here.' 

And  clubbing  his  good  rifle  as  he  spoke,  he 
swung  it  with  gigantic  force  twice  round  his  head, 
and  then,  with  a  wide  sweep  of  the  ponderous 
butt  to  and  fro  right  in  their  midst,  he  scattered 
the  savages,  stunned  and  bleeding,  like  chaff,  be 
fore  his  iron  arm. 

The  Indians  gave  back  a  moment  in  confusion, 
evidently  astonished  at  the  extraordinary  bravery 
and  strength  their  powerful  antagonist  had  dis 
played.  This  momentary  wavering  was  an  advan 
tage  which  the  hunter  did  not  fail  to  improve. 

1  Back,  back,  for  your  life !  Get  behind  the 
trees,'  rang  in  Lincoln's  ear,  while  lie  felt  himself 
drawn  backward. 

Yielding  to  the  impulse,  he  nt  the  same  instant 
lifted  his  heavy  horse  pistol,  levelled  it  in  the  di 
rection  of  the  savages,  and,  as  he  found  himself 
dragged  behind  the  shelter  of  a  great  oak,  saw  an 
Indian  bound  into  the  air,  then  bite  the  dust. 

The  latter  paused,  as  if  in  deliberation  ;  the 
voice  of  the  aged  chief,  who  had  been  the  last  to 
gain  the  spot,  was  heard  among  then) ;  and  hunter 
and  traveller,  from  their  temporary  shelter,  could 
observe  the  savages  in  loud  vociferation. 

The  hunter's  gn-sp  tightened  on  Lincoln's  arm: 
'  They're  taking  counsel,  stranger  ;  what's  best  to 
be  done?  Hark!  I  know  their  onnat'ral  tongue. 
They  want  to  tomahawk  us  on  the  spot — but  the 
old  chief  says  no — we  must  be  taken  alive.  I 
suspicion  *  why,  stranger — but  keep  close  —  we 
may  see  our  way  out  o'  this  yet.' 

'  My  noble  fellow,  why,  in  the  first  place,  peril 
your  life  to  save  mine  ?' 

The  other  looked  at  him  almost  indignantly  as 
he  said, — 

'What!  d'ye  think  I'd  sec  a  man  murdered  by 
a  legion  o'  red  skins,  and  not  move  a  hand  or  foot 
to  help  him?  No,  no,  stranger,  not  whilo  my 

name's humph  !'  and   he   instantly  checked 

himself.     '  1  must'nt  let  them  red  devils  hear  that 
— they'd  skin   me  alive,  if  they  only  guessed  it,  1 
reckon.    I've  seen  a  much  worse  strait  than  this, 
many  a  time  in  my  life  ;  all  I  care  for  is  Ed'ard— 
if  he's  safe,  it's  little  I ' 

'  Carson — Carson  !  for  God's  sake  beware  ! — 
Treachery !'  shouted  a  voice  that  caused  both  to 
turn,  as  if  at  a  serpent's  sting,  their  startled  looks 
behind. 

Directly  in  the  hunter's  rear,  not  six  feet  from 
his  back,  creeping  stealthily  along  thro'  the  thin 
brushwood  upon  his  h«nds  and  knees,  a  gaunt 
Indian  met  the  eye  that  was  turned  too  suddenly 
upon  him  to  allow  a  change  of  posture  ere  he  was 
perceived. 

But  the  keen  glance  of  the  hunter,  only  a  mo 
ment  resting  on  him,  seemed  to  be  anxiously  seek 
ing  out  some  second  object  in  the  back-ground, 
behind  the  crouching  savage ;  and  the  moment 
was  seized  by  the  latter,  with  the  alertness  of  his 


race,  to  spring  from  his  crawling  attitude,  at  one 
long  bound,  on  the  apparently  unguarded  man, 
with  hunting-knife  upraised. 

The  very  instant  that  it  flashed  in  the  broad 
light  above  that  massive  chest,  the  report  of  a  gun 
shot  echoed  thro'  the  reverberating  atmosphere,  and 
as  the  treacherous  assailant  fell  a  dead  man  at  the 
hunter's  feet,  with  the  assassin's  knife  still  grasp 
ed  in  his  hand,  the  light  form  of  a  youth,  with  a 
Spanish  carbine  in  his  hand,  leaped  across  the 
lifeless  body  and  threw  himself  upon  tae  neck  of 
the  frontiersman,  exclaiming, — 

'  Thank  God  !  my  friend,  my  noble  benefactor, 
I  was  in  time  to  save  your  precious  life.' 

'  Ha !  it  was  you,  then,  Edward  ? — the  voice 
was  your  own?'  ejaculated  the  hunter,  as  he  re 
turned,  with  more  than  manly  fervor,  the  embrace 
of  the  youth.  '  I  am  sorry,  very  sorry,  boy,  that 
you  have  exposed  yourself  to  hazard,  by  coming 
hither  at  this  time.  ]  was  thanking  my  stars  a 
moment  ago,  boy,  that  you  were  not  by  "my  side 
when  I  fell  in  with  those  yelling  red  skins  yonder 
— 7-that  you,  at  all  events,  were  out  of  harm's  way 
— and  the  first  thing  1  know,  here  you  are.' 

'  But  you  were  in  danger,  dear  Carson  ! — how 
could  I  stay  ?'  urged  the  boy,  earnestly. 

'  True,  you  left  me  at  our  camp  a  quarter  of  a. 
mile  distant,  to  find  a  deer  for  our  supper;  but  I 
heard  the  repeated  firing,  and  I  thought  something 
must  have  happened  you.  I  knew  the  Pawnees 
j  were  prowling  around,  and  if  the  hunters  had  not 
been  all  gone  from  the  camp  in  search  of  the 
Indians,  I  should  have  brought  them  along ;  I 
could  not,  would  not  stay — luckily  the  fire  guided 
me  hither  in  season  to  slay  your  enemy.  O  my 
God  ! — O  my  God  !  it  is  the  first  human  blood  on 
my  hands !' 

And  the  young  boy,  with  a  tremulous  voice  and 
a  shuddering  of  the  frame,  turned  away  his  head, 
and  leaned  it  on  the  shoulder  of  the  hunter,  who 
was  seen  by  Eugene  to  dash  a  manly  tear  from 
his  eye,  as  though  ashamed  of  the  emotion,  while 
he  ejaculated  in  a  moved  tone, — 

'  Bless  you,  my  boy,  bless  you  !' 

But  the  boy  seemed  not  easily  calmed,  for  twice 
he  was  heard  repeating,  in  trembling  tones, — 

'  O  my  God  !  the  first  human  blood  I  ever  shed!' 

'You  "are  mistaken,  brave  boy,  you  are  mis 
taken,'  said  Lincoln,  with  an  air  of  some  surprise. 
'  It  was  my  own  ball  that  slew  tho  savage.  I,  too, 
saw  the  wretch  and  fired,'  and  held  up  his  second 
pistol,  evidently  just  discharged.  'It  was  my 
weapon  which  took  his  life.' 

'  Impossible  ?'  said  the  boy,  tremulously,  as  he 
pointed  to  his  still  smoking  carbine;  'and  yet, 
would  to  Heaven  it  were  so,  I  would  not  have  the 
blood  of  a  fellow  being  upon  these  hands,  even 
when  token  in  a  just  cause.  O,  would  it  were 
true!  but  no;  see  here  is  the  path  of  my  bullet 
through  the  back  of  his  neck— it  is  too  wide  to  bo 
made  by  a  pistol-ball — alas!  it  is  my  work!' 

'And  yet,'  said  Lincoln,  bending  down;  'my 
own  shot !  it  surely  did  not  miss  ;  and — ha !  is  the 


KIT  CARSON. 


65 


very  ball,  buried  in  the  flesh  of  the  shoulder.  I 
knew  it  struck  the  mark,  though  my  foot  slipped.* 

'Mistaken!  mistaken  botli  of  you!'  cried  the 
hunter,  with  a  smile,  as  he  turned  upward  the  face 
and  chest  of  the  corpse,  and  displayed  a  knife 
buried  up  to  the  hilt  in  the  breast  of  the  dead  sa- 
Vage,  while  he  spurned  the  gory  body  with  his 
foot.  *  Flesh-wounds  both,  are  those  bullet  holes 
of  yours,  my  good  friends  5  but  what  do  you  think 
of  this  stout  blade — right  to  the  red -skin's  heart? 

'  And  so,  the  sneaking  critter  thought  to  take 
me  unawares,  did  he  ?'  he  added,  as  he  marked 
the  wondering  astonishment  of  both,  on  perceiv 
ing  that  the  seemingly  unprepared  hunter  had 
been  fully  on  the  watch,  and  in  readiness  for  the 
eapof  the  treacherous  foe  ;  'when  a  trapper  learns 
to  catch  a  weasle  asleep,  then  a  pesky  red  skin 
may  stand  a  sort  of  chance  of  taking  Kit  Carson 
off  his  guard— -not  till  then !' 

'  Kit  Carson  !  Kit  Carson?  ejaculated  Eugene, 
starting  violently.  '  Is  it  possible  that  you  are 
that  famous  hunter  and  explorer  of  the  far  West  ? 
Do  I,  indeed,  see  Kit  Carson,  the  prairie-ranger, 
the  scout,  the  gold-discoverer  ?— with  whose  name 
the  Union  rings  ?' 

'  Yes,  and  no,  stranger !  You  do  see  Kit  Carson, 
plain  Kit  Carson,  mind  you !'  rejoined  the  honest 
hunter,  with  a  good-humored  smile,  and  a  counte 
nance  as  calm  and  quiet,  as  it  that  name  were  not 
famous  from  ore  end  of  the  land  to  the  other,  from 
the  Pacific  to  the  Atlantic  coast.  '  Plain  Kit  Car 
son,  and — but  this  is  no  time  for  words,  with  a 
whole  troop  of  Injuns  around  thirsting  for  our 
lives;  we  must  act;  all  on  us,  stranger,  now.' 

Hardly  had  the  last  words  left  the  lips  of  the 
gallant  hunter,  when  a  terrific  war-whoop  echoing 
from  a  hundred  throats,  apparently  burst  from  the 
Indians  in  front  of  the  sheltered  little  party 

It  was  again  and  again  repeated,  almost  inces 
santly,  and  the  savages  were  seen  dancing  and 
leaping,  and  making  every  variety  of  noise  with 
their  feet,  hands,  and  voices,  but  making  no  move 
ment  towards  an  assault  from  the  stand  they  had 
taken  when  driven  back  to  the  shore. 

The  boy  Edward  and  Lincoln,  looked  bewilder 
ed  and  confounded  by  the  unearthly  din  which 
deafened  their  ears.  Carson  advanced  a  step, 
halted,  his  lynx-like  eye  went  flashing  round,  with 
a  quick,  uneasy  glance,  and  once  he  raised  his 
stalwart  arm  aloft  and  shook  it  angrily. 

'Heavens  and  earth,'  nervously  ejaculated  the 
hunter,  for  the  first  time  seeming  to  lose  a  portion 
of  his  habitual  imperturbable  coolness ;  '  what 
Hew  deviltry's  afoot,  now  ?  Those  red  rascals  are 
not  making  all  this  tarnal  racket  for  nothing.  That 
whispering  and  chattering  of  theirs,  juat  now,  was 
not  for  nothing ! 

4  Just  see  here,  stranger,'  and  he  clutched  both 
his  comrades  nervously  by  the  arm,  once  more. — 
'  They  sent  this  dead  carrion,  under  foot  here,  in 
the  first  place,  just,  for  nothing  else  in  the  world, 
but  to  draw  off  our  'tention  from  some  rascally 
trick  they're  going  to  play  on  us.' 


'  Will  they  again  attack  us  ?'  inquired  Lin 
coln. 

'  They  don't  attack  us  jest  now,  d'ye  see^ 
stranger,  'cause  they  want  to  take  us  alive,  and 
den  t  want  to  lose  any  more  o'  their  men ;  but 
they've  not  given  us  up  y<  t,  I  kin  take  my  bible 
oath  o'  that  I  knows  the  Injuns,  every  inch  of 
them  !  and  a  monstrous  trickery  set  they  ar',  that's 
sartin.  Deper.d  upon  it,  there's  some  mischief 
brewing  we  don't  expect,  and  that's  what  makes 
me  uneasy  about  it.  Only  jest  hear  how  the  crit 
ters  take  on,  and  how  they  keep  it  up ;  it's  like 
Bedlam  broke  loose.' 

The  unaccountable  uproar  continued ;  the  stamp 
ing  and  shouting  was,  in  fact,  absolutely  stunning. 
The  hunter  had  been  forced  to  speak  in  a  loud 
pitch  of  voice  to  make  himself  heard  at  all  by  his. 
companions ;  but  it  was  evident,  by  the  increased 
confusion,  that  the  hideous  concert  of  discordant 
voices  had  now  reached  its  climax,  as  if  that  mo 
ment  was  the  secret  crisis  of  the  unknown  strata 
gem  in  play.  The  keen  witted  Carson  immediately 
took  his  cue  from  it. 

'  It's  a  puzzle  ;  it's  past  my  comprehension  quite,' 
he  commenced  to  say,  when  a  sudden  idea  seemed 
to  strike  him,  causing  him  most  abruptly  to  change 
his  tone,  ejaculating:  '  Aha  !  I  thought  at  first  it 
was  only  to  take  off  our  attention  ;  it  may  be  so  in 
part,  but  depend  on  it,  it's  to  dro\vn  some  other 
noise  that  they've  set  up  this  din.  By  heaven ! 
what  if-—-'  ' 

Jf  it  was  a  suspicion  of  the  truth  that  suddenly 
flashed  across  the  hunter's  mind,  it  came  too  late! 
There  was  a  creaking  among  the  boughs  of  the 
overhanging  trees,  a  sharp  crashing  of  the  branch 
es  overhead,  and  then,  from  the  umbrageous  am 
bush,  the  wiry  form  of  a  falling  savage  descended 
upon  the  head  of  the  hunter  below,  bearing  the 
gallant  foe  beneath  him,  to  the  earth ! 

Another  and  another  followed,  self-precipitated 
from  the  superincumbent  trees,  until  the  forms  of 
Carson's  two  companions  lay  insensible  beside  the 
fallen  huntsman,  with  the  triumphant  J-ndians  hoot 
ing  in  exultation  over  them. 

The  stratagem  was  manifest:  a  half-dozen  of 
the  most  active  savages,  skirting  a  corner  of  the 
wood,  until  quite  out  of  sight,  had  then  climbed 
up  by  the  branches  from  the  ground,  and  swing 
ing  by  the  boughs,  crept  along  from  tree  to  tree 
till  they  reached  the  towering  pines,  beneath  the 
spreading  foliage  of  which  and  behind  its  huge 
trunk,  Carson  and  his  companions  had  found  re 
fuge—thence  to  leap  upon  the  unsuspecting  prey 
below.  The  Babel-like  tumult  from  the  more  dis 
tant  Indians,  designed,  of  course,  to  drown  the 
rustling  of  the  leaves  and  the  snapping  sound  of 
the  brittle  twigs,  which  would  otherwise  have  be* 
trayed  the  purpose  of  their  confederates  and  their 
serpent-like  progress  through  the  crackling  tree* 
tops. 


KIT  CARSON, 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Kit  Carson  and  his  little  Band  at  the  Mercy  of 
the  Savages — The  Wigwam— The  Deadly  Re 
venge — The  Escape  from  one  Danger  to  meet 
another. 

.''    •    .'•        " !         !   .      •••';:    .  •  :)*     ".''t:7U.>t      t       '•t.^.iij     i)  l!5*!O 

' Captivity !  captivity !  O  bitter,  bitter  fate  ! 
Misfortune!  wilt  thou  ne'er  thv  hatred  sate  ?? 

BOUND  and  shacked,  in  a  rude  wigwam,  at  a 
late  hour  of  the  night  by  which  that  eventful  day 
was  soon  succeeded,  lay  the  three  captives  of  the 
Indians,  so  strangely  made  their  prisoners. 

Several  hours  had  elapsed  since  the  eventful 
moment  which  had  terminated,  so  abruptly,  so  long 
and  resolute  a  struggle.  This  interval  of  time 
had  been  employed  by  the  captors  in  securing 
their  prisoners,  binding  them  to  the  swift-footed 
Indian  ponies  of  the  tribe,  and  then  setting  off  at 
a  sharp  canter  in  the  direction  of  their  intended 
encampment,  several  miles  distant  from  the  scene 
of  the  adventure  which  had  resulted  so  disastrous 
ly  for  those  in  whose  safety  we  are  most  concerned. 

Hampered  and  fettered  as  they  were,  Carson, 
with  his  two  comrades  in  captivity,  found  them 
selves  crowded  together  in  the  little  wigwam, 
upon  a  conspicuous  pile  of  skins,  and  guarded, 
outside  the  lodge,  by  two  gaunt  savages,  but  left 
for  the  present  wholly  to  themselves. 

Fortunately  for  the  brief  and  hurried  consulta 
tion  that  followed  between  them,  as  soon  as  their 
scattered  senses  were  completely  recovered. 

They  had  not  been  gagged  ;  and  Lincoln  was 
the  first  to  say:  *  We  are,  then,  in  the  power  of 
the  Indians  !* 

The  hunter,  who  seemed  to  have  been  buried 
in  a  deep  reverie,  and  now  for  the  first  time  spoke, 
raised  his  head  thoughtfully  and  replied : 

'  We  ar',  stranger,  and  at  the  mercy  of  as 
bloody  a  set  of  red  skins  as  is  to  be  met  with  any 
whar'  on  the  great  prairies,— the  Pawnee  Picts— 
born  devils  from  their  mothers'  breasts.  They're 
the  cruelest,  the  savagest,  most  unfeeling  tribe 
between  the  Rocky  Mountains  and  the  Pacific  — 
the  Wandering  Picts,  we  hunters  call  'em.  We 
are  at  one  of  their  villages  now ;  and  but  little 
good  it  bodes  us.' 

'Ha!'  exclaimed  Eugene,  '  have  you  any  idea 
of  the  fate  to  which  we  are  destined  by  our  cruel 
captors  ?' 

The  hunter  turned  his  eyes,  as  well  as  he  could, 
in  his  shackled  state,  with  an  expression  of  sur 
prise  at  the  other's  ignorance,  as  he  replied : 

*  Yes,  stranger,  and  more's  the  pity.  If  we  live 
until  to-morrow,  and  continue  in  their  power,  we 
shall,  most  probably,  be  burned  alive.' 

'Almighty  Father!'  uttered  Lincoln,  in  his  hor 
ror.  Then  he  quickly  uttered :  '  You  must  be 
mistaken ;  they  could  not  be  guilty  of  such  bar 
barity  !' 

Again  Carson  smiled,  —  one  of  his  meaning 
smiles:  'Stranger,  for  your  sake,  and  the  sake 


of  that  poor  boy,  there,  I  wish  I  was  mistaken,'  he 
said,  pointing  to  the  lad,  Edward,  on  whom  the 
hard  usage  of  the  Indians  seemed  to  have  had 
more  lasting  effect,  than  on  his  older  and  hardier 
companions.  'But  1  know  thePawness  well,  and 
Kit  Carson  knows  what  to  expect.  This  is  a  re 
gular  war-party  of  the  red-skins,  and  I  see  by 
their  lack  of  scalps,  they  have  but  lately  set  out, 
and  so  we  happen  to  be  about  the  first  game  ihey 
have  fallen  in  with,  which  is  not  in  our  favor,  that's 
sartin.  My  hunters  were  all  out  on  a  snout  after 
these  same  critteis,  for  we  got  wind  they  war'  in 
the  neighborhood,  or  we  should  have  had  help.' 

'  And  no  doubt,'  said  Lincoln,  'our  determined 
resistance  still  farther  exasperated  them.' 

'No  damage  done  thar,  stranger,'  Bald  the 
hunter,  in  reply.  '  If  we'd  turned  tail  and  run, 
and  not  fojght  'em  like  men,  they'd  have  cut  us 
down  and  scalped  us  on  the  spot,  as  it  we  had 
been  so  many  dogs.  But  we  stood  our  ground, 
d'ye  see,  and  shewed  'em  our  teeth  with  a  will, 
and  that  made  the  rascals  more  anxious  to  take  us 
alive,  that  they  might  make  us  the  heroes  of  a 
war-dance,  as  they  mean  to  do— it's  an  honor  they 
never  allots  to  a  coward.' 

'A  war-dance?'  echoed  Lincoln,  inquiringly. 

'A  war-dance — yes.  What!  didn't  you  ever 
hear  of  un  Injun  war-dance,  stranger  ?  Well,  it's 
my  opinion  you'll  know  more  of  it  to  your  sorrow, 
if  we're  in  this  wigwam  to-morrow  morning.' 

And  the  experienced  hunter  proceeded  to  ex 
plain  to  Lincoln  that  strange  and  terrible  rite,  com 
mon  to  most  savage  tribes  of  the  wilderness  in 
which  captives  noted  for  their  courageous  resist 
ance  or  habitual  bravery,  are  sacrificed  to  the 
Indian  deity  by  the  most  horrible  of  deaths — the 
stake — -by  burning  at  the  stake. 

'  Great  Ged!  dear  Carson,  can  we  do  nothing?' 
breathlessly  interposed  the  young  boy.  Edward, 
'  nothing  to  avert  so  barbarous  an  end  ?' 

'  Yes,  yes,'  replied  the  other,  with  a  moment's 
emotion,  as  he  looked  affectionately  at  the  trem 
bling  lad;  'yes,  my  boy,  it  Kit  Carson's  wits  are 
not  clean  gone  in  one  day's  time  ;  we're  not  roast- 
meat  for  the  red-skins  yet,  nor  do  I  mean  that  we 
shall  be,  so  long  as ' 

'How!'  interrupted  Lincoln,  'are  we  to  under 
stand  you  that  there  is  the  slightest  possibility  of 
escape  from  the  dreadful  peril  that  threatens  us  ? 
Are  we  not  fairly  in  their  toils  ;  captives  in  their 
very  camp,  fettered,  and  deprived  of  the  use  of 
our  limbs — surrounded  on  every  side  by  an  enemy, 
powerful  as  they  are  merciless  ?' 

'True,  stranger,  true;  the  prospect  isn't  plea 
sant,  and  the  chances  are  pretty  slim,  there's  no 
disputing  that  fact,  I'm  afeered.  Still,  while  there's 
life  and  time,  there's '  hope  ;  and  I  don't  despair 
yet,  by  any  manner  o'  means.  To  be  sure,  here 
we  ar',  bound  neck  and  heels  like  three  young 
bear-cubs ;  but,  stranger,'  pursued  the  honest 
hunter,  in  a  determined  tone,  '  though  these  cop 
per-colored  snakes  yonder  did  make  out,  for  once, 
to  get  a  leetle  ahead  o'  Kit  Carson's  time,  with 


KIT   CAHSON. 


67 


one  o*  their  outlandish  contrivances,  the  same 
thing  don't  happen  Very  often,  you  may  be  quite 
sure  ;  and  what's  more,  they  haven't  seen  the  last 
of  Kit  Carson  yet,  as  I  hope  the  cursed  critters'll 
tliskiver  to  their  cost. 

'Now  mind  you,  both  on  ye,'  continued  the 
speaker,  more  markedly,  awhile  he  .made  a  sort  of 
sliding  movement  with  his  body,  the  only  motion 
of  which  he  was  capable,  the  more  emphatically 
to  attract  their  attention.  '  Out  o'  this  precious 
scrape  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  get  you,  if  there's 
any  such  thing  left  as  wit  in  a  'Merican  hunter. 
But  don't  forgit  to  remember,  Ed'ard,  and  you,  too, 
stranger,  whatever  happens  to-night,  not  to  show 
any  'stonishment  or  surprise,  though  maybe  you 
mought'nt  understand  it  all.  So,  mind  and  be 
keerful,  and  don't  speak,  only  when  1  speak  lirst, 
you  understand  me  ? — The  fust  thing  to  be  had, 
howsomever,  is  a  light ;  and  then——' 

'Alight?'  repeated  Lincoln,  in  inquiring  sur 
prise. 

'  But  a  muttered  '  Hush !'  from  the  hunter,  seal 
ed  his  lips,  and  he  lay  speechless  and  motionless. 

Suddenly,  to  his  infinite  astonishment,  a- 4*dnt 
moan,  proceeding  evidently  from  Carson's  lips, 
saluted  his  ear,  followed  by  three  or  four  deep  and 
hollow  groans,  so  full  of  .seeming  anguish  and 
natural  distress,  that  Lincoln,  completely  deceived, 
would  unquestionably  have  started  up  in  appre 
hension,  if  his  bonds  had  not  prevented. 

Their  attention  excited  by  these  sounds  of  suf 
fering  from  the  two  Pawnees,  who  had  been  stand 
ing,  or  rather,  sitting  guard  before  the  door  of  the 
wigwam,  smoking  their  pipes  in  true  Indian  taci 
turnity,  ceased  their  occupation,  somewhat  abrupt 
ly,  and  paused  to  listen. 

The  moaning  from  the  interior  of  the  little  pri 
son,  continued  at  momentary  intervals,  one  instant 
dying  faintly  away,  the  next,  swelling  to  the  most 
painful  intensity,  like  a  strong  man  struggling 
with  his  agony. 

The  two  Indians  arose  and  softly  entered  the 
lodge.  The  powerful  form  of  the  noble  hunter 
was  seen,  as  they  advanced,  wrestling  with  the 
keen  pain  which  seemed  to  convulse  him,  and 
his  features  appeared  contorted  with  suffering. 

Lincoln  saw  the  Pawnees  approach  the  groan 
ing  hunter  and  scrutinize  him  closely,  as  they 
bent  over  him:  then  he  observed  the  fettered 
Carson,  endeavoring  to  make  himself  understood 
by  signs,  with  the  fingers  of  his  manacled  hand, 
and  then  heard  him  also  address  the  Indians  in 
their  own  tongue,  as  he  conceived ;  for  they  stood 
consulting  together  for  a  moment,  at  the  end  of 
which  ene  of  them  left  the  cabin,  leaving  his  com 
rade  alone  with  the  prisoners. 

Presently  he  returned  bearing  a  little  water  in 
a  sort  of  hollow  gourd,  with  which  he  stooped 
down  and  bathed  the  face  and  brow  of  the  still 
moaning  sufferer. 

It  seemed  to  revive  the  latter  greatly ;  his 
groans  gradually  lessened,  and  he  became  more 
easy. 


Lincoln  heard  him  again  accoat  the  two  in  the 
Indian  dialect ;  whereupon  the  one  who  had  pro 
cured  the  water  took  up  the  gourd,  and  prepared 
to 'quit  the  lodge,  while  the  other  Pawnee,  remov 
ing  the  pipe  from  his  own  mouth,  placed  it  be 
tween  the  lips  of  the  distressed  man,  who  seemed 
to  derive  immediate  benefit  from  its  compssing 
influence,  for  his  groans  ceased,  by  degrees  alto 
gether  ;  seeing  which,  they  silently  retired,  leav 
ing  the  three  captives  once  more  to  themselves. 

'Hist!'  Lincoln  heard  the  deep  voice  of  Carson 
articulate,  scarce  above  his  breath,  '  speak  only  in 
whispers.' 

"  What  have  you  done  ?  what  have  you  done  ?' 
ventured  Lincoln. 

'Nothing,  you  might  think;  a  great  deal,  1 
think,'  was  the  meaning  reply.  '  You  said,  I  be 
lieve,  stranger,  that  all  your  weapons  were  taken 
from  you  ?' 

'  Yes ;  they  stripped  me  of  everything,'  was  the 
reply. 

'  And  yon,  Edward  ;  didn't  they  leave  you  a 
single  piece  of  cold  steel  ?' 

'  Not  so  much  as  a  pocket-knife,  Carson,'  replied 
the  boy,  in  a  low  and  silvery  tone  that  struck 
pleasantly  on  Lincoln's  ear. 

'No?- — I  suspected  as  much.  Well,  then,  there'a 
no  help  for  it,  and  I  rrfust  trust  to  the  pipe.' 

'The  pipe,  Carson!'  iterated  the  lad,— 'what 
could  you  possibly  want  with  the  pipe,  and  why 
did  you  counterfeit  illness?' 

1  Why,  to  get  hold  of  the  pipe,  to  be  sure,  boy  ; 
what  else  could  it  be  for  ?  Didn't  you  see  me  ask 
the  Injun  for  water,  just  as  a  blind,  and  then  how 
wistful  I  looked  at  the  pipe  in  the  Pawnee's  hand. 
They're  cute  creaters,  these  red-skins,  in  medicine 
matters,  and  know  well  enough  what  a  soothing 
effect  smoking  has  on  bodily  ailings ;  a  pipe's  an 
Injun's  pain-killer.  Now  this  pipe  o'  theirs  is  just 
the  thing  that's  going  to  get  us  out  of  our  trouble, 
and  neither  more  nor  less !  It's  not  the  first  time 
I've  cheated  a  Pawnee  by  playing  'possum.' 

*  But  how  artfully  it  was  done,'  said  Lincoln  ; 
'and  how  natural  was  the  deception !  Still,  I  don't 
see ' 

'What's  to  be  the  upshot,  stranger?  Very 
likely ;  but  depend  on  it,  I'Jl  soon  have  a  use  for 
this  pipe ;  and  what  concerns  you  more,  I  shall 
want  your  help,  stranger.  But  that  won't  be  for 
half  an  hour  yet ;  and  in  the  meanwhile,'  added 
the  speaker,  'I  want  both  of  ye  to  keep  perfectly 
still  and  quiet,  and  when  I  need  either  of  you  I'll 
let  you  know.  Ed'ard,'  he  continued,  addressing 
the  boy-companion  in  whom  he  seemed  to  take 
much  interest,  and  speaking  in  almost  a  fatherly 
tone:  'Ed'ard,  do  you  lay  your  head  down  on 
these  b'ar-skins  and  take  a  half-hour's  nap ;  you're 
young  and  delikite,  and  you'll  need  it ;  for  we've 
got  a  long  tramp  of  it,  when  we  get  out  o'  this 
place.  And  you,  stranger,  you'd  better  try  and 
get  a  little  sleep,  too,  I'll  waken  you  when  I  want 
you.' 

1  And  you,  dear  Carson,'  interposed  the  boy  Ed- 


KIT  CARSON, 


ward,  *  you  have  undergone  and  endured  enough 
to  bow  down  the  strongest  man;  you,  loo, 'require 
sleep ;  you  must  not  exhaust  yourself  further  for 
my— -for  Our  sake,  bravest  and  noblest  of  men.' 

'  There,  there  stop,  boy,  stop— 'don't  speak  in 
that  way,  don't,'  said  the  hardy  hunter,  with  emo 
tion  he  could  not  conceal.  '  Not  another  word, 
my  boy,  not  another  word  !  I  won't  hear  you  ;  go 
to  sleep,  lad;  go  to  sleep.  What's  a  little  rough 
usage  to  a  man  born  on  the  wild  prairie !  Kit 
Carson's  no  city  dandy  to  faint  at  the  sight  of  a 
little  danger,  or  to  need  as  much  sleep  as  a  board 
ing-school  miss.  There,  I  say,  don't  make  another 
objection,  if  you  don't  want  me  down-right  mad. 
And  don't  make  me  talk  any  more— -it's  hard  work 
speaking,  with  a  pipe  in  a  man's  mouth.' 

The  gentle  boy  murmured  a  « good  night,'  and 
with  an  affectionate  look  at  his  hardy  protector,  as 
he  seemed  to  be,  closed  his  eyes,  and  it  was  soon 
evident  that  he  slept  the  calm  deep  sleep  of  youth, 
overcome  by  excitement  and  fatigue. 

Lincoln  also  endeavored  to  resign  his  senses  to 
slumber,  but  it  was  in  vain  that  he  sought  it.  He 
lay  perfectly  quiet  but  sleepless,  and  watching,  by 
the  moonlight,  the  countenances  of  the  two  per 
sons  whom  fate  had  so  strangely  made  his  com 
panions. 

Despite  the  restraint  of  the  crippling  confine 
ment  to  which  the  helpless  hunter  was  subjected, 
despite  the  cruel  wisps  of  dried  bark  which  se 
cured  his  limbs  as  firmly  as  the  strongest  manacles 
of  iron;  the  silent  obseiver  was  struck  with  the 
magnificent  proportions  and  immense  muscular 
power  of  the  Herculean  man  before  him,  whose 
every  nerve,  sinew  and  member  seemed  a  model 
of  perfect  strength  ;  a  combination  of  elasticity, 
agility  anjl  inherent  might,  that  would  have  done 
honor  to  the  athlete  of  the  Roman  arena.  Yet, 
notwithstanding  the  gigantic  stature,  the  enormous 
depth  of  chest,  the  massive  breadth  of  limb,  all 
were  cast  in  a  mould  of  the  most  complete  sym 
metry,  with  each  other. 

As  Lincoln's  gaze  scanned  the  face,  as  well  as 
form,  and  marked  the  almost  kingly  expression  of 
that  broad  brow,  the  expanding  nostril,  the  deter 
mined  mouth,  the  keen  and  piercing  eagle's  eye, 
he  felt  that  he  was  in  the  presence  of  an  extraor 
dinary  man ,  one  destined  to  cope  from  his  birth 
with  difficulties  and  obstacles  .which  would  dis 
hearten  and  overwhelm  a  common  spirit,  and  to 
overthrow  every  danger  and  every  impediment  by 
the  force  of  a  will  and  a  physique  such  as  were 
given  to  Washington  and  Napoleon. 

'  And  this— this  is  Kit  Carson,'  was  the  mental 
ejaculation  of  Lincoln;  'the  wonderful  man 
whose  hardihood  and  enterprise  have  made  him 
so  celebrated.  And  yet,  how  hones!,  how  frank, 
how  manly.  And  ha!  I  havs  heard  that  of  his 
character,  which  leads  me  to  believe,  that  the 
rough  manner,  the  uncultivated  speech,  apparently 
peculiar  to  him,  are  in  a  degree  assumed  ;  that  he 
m  his  youth  received  the  benefits  of  a  good  edu 
cation  and  good  society,  but  that  hs  ever  loved 


the  wild  delights  of  a  hunter's  life,  and  with  its 
freedom  and  its  pleaures,  determined  to  adopt  its 
plain  habits  and  plainer  mode  of  speech.  Yes  ! 
and  even  while  he  has  at  his  command  the  choic* 
est  and  most  correct  language  of  polished  life,  he 
feels  a  sort  of  pride  in  disguising  it  beneath  the 
ruder  diction  known  to  the  rough  frontiersman ! 
And  this,  then,  is  Kit  Carson  ?  How  strange  that 
I  should  meet  with  him  in  the  heart  of  the  wilder 
ness  ;  and  at  a  moment,  too,  when  Heaven  seemed 
to  have  sent  him  to  preserve  my  life  from  the  most 
fearful  peril  by  which  it  was  ever  jeopardized,  and 
with  the  display  ot  heroism  such  as  I  never  wit 
nessed  in  mortal  man  before !' 

Such  were  some  of  the  exciting  thoughts  which 
passed  through  Eugene's  mind :  and  with  difficulty 
was  it  that  he  could  at  last  overcome  the  fascina 
tion  which  enchained  his  glance  to  that  splendid 
post,  and  when  finally  the  spell  was  broken  for  a 
moment,  it  was  only  accomplished  as  his  wander* 
ing  eye  fixed  itself  in  turn  upon  the  sleeping  boy, 
the  young  friend  of  Carson,  and  his  own  remaining 
fellow  captive. 

There  was  a  few  moments  more  of  silence  be 
fore  the  perfect  stillness  that  reigned  was  broken 
once  more  by  the  hunter's  voice,  and  in  their  brief 
interim  Lincoln  had  leisure  for  the  first  time  to  ex 
amine,  more  particularly,  the  person  of  the  lad, 
and  to  study  the  expression  of  a  countenance 
which  had,  from  the  outset  interested  him. 

The  jouth  was  light  and  graceful  in  figure,  of 
the  apparent  age  of  eighteen,  with  decidedly  hand 
some  features,  and  a  complexion  that  struck  Lin 
coln  as  being  beautifully  clear  and  fresh,  though 
the  warm  sun  of  the  prairie  had  given  it  a  light 
olive  tinge,  which  a  more  manly  look  to  a  contour 
that  would  otherwise  have  soemed  effeminate. 
The  face  was  spirited  and  glowing  with  health 
and  the  excitement  of  an  active  life;  but  there 
appeared  to  be  a  native  timidity  in  its  expression, 
whi.ih  puzzled  while  it  impressed  the  observer, 
and  left  a  vague  feeling  of  doubt  that  there  was 
something  peculiar  and  incomprehensible  in  the 
boy's  character. 

The  dress  of  the  youth  was  a  coarse  but  very 
tasteful  hunting  suit,  much  after  the  Spanish  or 
Mexican  fashion,  from  which  it  had  evidently- 
been  adapted  ;  and  it  fitted  to  perfection  the  slight 
and  supple  figure  of  the  wearer,  which  was  sym 
metry  itself. 

Altogether,  Lincoln  could  not  help  feeling  a 
singular  interest,  mingled  with  a  kindly  sentiment, 
in  the  handsome  youth  who  lay  sleeping  at  the 
hunter's  feet ;  and  more  than  once  he  asked  him 
self  who  could  be  this  unknown  pr^cge  of  Kit 
Carson  ?  and  twice  or  thrice  he  caught  himself 
unconsciously  looking  from  one  to  the  other,  to 
see  if  he  could  trace  any  kindred  resemblance  in 
the  features  of  both.  But  not  the  slightest  sign 
of  similarity  was  discernible  to  the  keenest  scru 
tiny. 

'Edward!' 

The  word  was  in  a  waisper  breathed. 


KIT  CARSON. 


69 


*  Edwa  d  !'  repeated  the  deep  tone  of  the  hun 
ter. 

The  sleeper  stirred  not;  there  was  no  answer. 

4  The  boy's  asleep  ;  let  him  rest  on.  Voti,  stran 
ger,  are  yon  awake  ?'  was  then  softly  tittered. 

Lincoln  moved  hia  body  a  little  in  proof  of  the 
fact,  and  softly  replied: 

'  Yes  ;  can  I  be  of  help  to  you  ?' 

'You  can,  stranger;  the  time's  come  foi  action.' 

4  Speak !  I  will  risk  my  life  to  serve  you,  if  ne 
cessary  ;  it  will  be  returning  a  debt  I  owe  the  gal 
lant  Carson.' 

'Good!  I  like  your  spirit  —  the  real  pluck, 
stranger,'  said  Carson,  approvingly ;  what's  your 
name,  friend  ?' 

The*  question  was  somewhat  abrupt,  but  the 
other  knew  it  was  as  honest  as  it  was  uncremo- 
nious,  and  he  replied,  without  hesitation, — 

'Lincoln — Eugene  Lincoln,  Mr.  Carson.' 

'  Lincoln,  hey  ?  That  sounds  manly  and  honest 
—I  like  it, — none  o'  your  high  strung,  windy- 
sounding  Fortesques  and  Mortimers,  and  sich  dan 
dified  nonsense.  But  I  say,  stranger,  don't  mister 
me  any  more  ;  Fin  not  used  to  having  a  handle  to 
my  name,  after  that  fashion ;  I'm  plain  Kit  Carson 
-—all  the  same  name  to  friend  or  foe !  it  don't 
sound  well  with  the  mister  on.  But  now,  what  1 
want  you  to  do  is  just  this — can't  you  contrive  to 
crawl  along,  some  way,  close  up  to  me,  and  then 
I'll  let  you  know  what  I'm  going  to  do.' 

With  great  difficulty,  and  by  dint  of  infinite 
exertion,  Lincoln  contrived  to  comply  with  this 
request,  slowly  working  himself  nearer,  inch  by 
by  inch,  so  effectually  were  his  motions  crippled. 

'  There,  jist  by  your  hand,  stranger,'  said  Kit 
Carson,  *  isn't  that  a  stick  o'  some  sort  on  the 
ground  ?' 

'  It's  a  piece  of  dried  pine,'  I  believe,'  answered 
the  other,  and  after  much  difficulty,  he  succeeded 
in  dragging  his  body  sufficiently  near  to  grasp  the 
fragment  of  wood,  which  the  hunter's  tone  told 
him  he  was  desirous  of  possessing. 

4  That's  the  thing ;  it  saves  tearing  a  piece  or 
two  of  bark  from  the  wigwam  wall,  which  might 
nnke  an  onpleasant  noise.  Now,  all  you've  got 
to  do  at  pre>sent,  is  to  take  one  eend  o'  this  pine 
stick  atween  your  teeth  and  hold  the  other  right 
into  the  bowl  of  my  pipe.' 

'  How !  do  you  intend,  then,  to  fire  the  wig 
wam?' 

4  Live  and  larn,  stranger;  you'll  know,  present 
ly,'  and  as  his  companion,  in  no  little  wonder,  ap 
plied  the  stick, to  the  hunter's  pipe,  the  latter  per 
sonage  proceeded  to  draw  a  rapid  succession  of 
deep,  long  whiffs,  which,  in  a  moment,  made  the 
tobacco  assume  the  appearance  and  heat  of  living 
coals.  The  pitch  coating  of  the  combustible 
wood  caused  it  to  catch  the  fire  with  the  greatest 
readiness,  and  the  pine  was  soon  in  a  blaze.' 

'  Now,'  said  Kit  Carson,  coolly,  'that  pine-knot's 
convarted  into  aregulir  torch.  And  now,  hold 
that  to  my  wrist  and  burn  that  cussed  cord.' 

Lincoln  started  back,  and  came  near  dropping 


the  flaming  stick  from  his  mouth  in  his  consterna 
tion. 

4  Are  you  mad.  Kit  Car  on  ?  are  you  mad  ?  I 
cannot  burn  the  cord  without  burning  your  arm.' 

4  Never  you  mind  that,  stranger.  Better  to  have 
one's  hand  roasted  in  the  night,  than  one's  whole 
body  in  the  morning.  Do  as  I  bid  you,  stranger, 
if  you've  any  regard  for  your  own  life  and  that 
poor  boy's,  there,  and  Kit  Carson's  into  the  bar 
gain,  if  you  will — it  is  the  only  thing  that  will 
save  us  now — hold  the  torch  to  my  wrist  /' 

Full  five  minutes  of  determined  expostulation 
followed  before  the  importunities  and  even  me 
naces  of  Kit  Carson  could  prevail  over  the  gene 
rous  obstinacy  of  the  no  less  magnanimous  Lin 
coln. 

At  length,  only  when  the  heroic  hunter  avowed 
Ins  determination,  if*  Lincoln  persisted  in  his  re 
fusal  to  cast  the  blazing  wood  on  the  ground  and 
hold  his  hand  over  it  till  the  work  was  done,  thus 
subjecting  him  to  the  danger  of  far  greater  injury, 
could  he  produce  the  least  effect  upon  his  equally 
resolute  companion. 

'  Quick  !'  exclaimed  Carson,  '  let  it  be  finisned 
and  over  with  before  Edward  awakes  !  The  boy 
would  be  sure  to  cry  out  at  the  sight — he's  so  ten 
der-hearted.  Quick  with  the  torch  !' 

With  the  most  painful  reluctance,  only  consent 
ing  from  the  knowledge  that  his  refusal  would  be 
productive  of  more  evil  than  good,  Lincoln,  with 
a  shudder  that  caused  the  teeth,  which  held  the 
flaming  torch,  to  chatter  with  horror,  nerved  him 
self  for  his  revolting  task. 

Not  a  single  shudder,  however,  on  the  hunter's 
part,  not  a  quiver  of  the  frame  betrayed  the  agony 
which  the  man  of  iron  will  was  suffering,  while 
the  flame  of  the  torch  \ras  eating  into  the  flesh  of 
that  massive  wrist,  the  crippling-  "bands  of  which 
it  was  consuming,  as  if  they  had  been  wythes  of 
straw. 

Not  one  groan,  not  one  spasm,  shook  that  mighty 
frame.  Only  his  lip,  that  proud,  that  determined 
lip  was  compressed,  with  the  firmness  of  a  rock, 
between  his  clenched  teeth,  as,  like  Mutius,  of 
old,  he  held  his  devoted  hand  within  the  flame 
which  was  scorching,  blackening,  burning  it  to 
the  very  bone. 

A  model  for  the  proudest  sculptor,  a  subject  for 
the  greatest  masters,  was  the  heroic  Carson  then 
— a  living  picture  of  the  well-nigh  incredible 
lengths  of  self  command  to  which  human  forti 
tude  and  human  endurance  can  attain. 

The  bark  hissed  and  crackled,  half  consumed 
by  the  flames.  A  few  ashes,  and  a  burnt  fragment 
fell.  Then,  with  a  mighty  effort  of  his  prodigious 
strength,  he  snapped  his  burning  bonds  apart  from 
his  scorched  and  bleeding  wrist. 

With  his  hands  once  more  free,  he  transferred 
them  to  the  fetters  which  still  bound  his  feet  and 
knees,  and  burst  them,  one  by  one,  as  Sampson 
did  the  withes  of  the  Philistines,  and  Kit  Cat  son 
i 


was  free 
To 


spring  to  each  of  his  fellow  captive's  side, 


• 


70 


KIT  CARSON. 


to  rend  also  the  bonds  which  still  confined  them, 
were  all  the  first  exertions  of  his  new-regained 
liberty. 

The  y£ung  boy,  Edward,  of  course  found  him 
self  suddenly  and  bewilderingly  aroused  from 
sleep ;  but  the  hunter's  hand  was  on  his  mouth  -in 
an  instant,  and  Kit  Carson's  well  known  voice 
whispered, — 

'Hist!  for  your  life!  Ten  minutes  more  and 
^ve  are  free !  Speak  not  a  word  more,  move  not 
an  inch,  on  your  soul — Kit  Carson  bids  you  !' 

The  next  instant  saw  the  hunter's  colossal  pro 
portions  flitting,  on  tip-toe,  from  the  wigwam. 

A  momentary  silence  ensued,  a  moment  of 
breathless  suspense.  Then,  faint  aud  gurgling, 
like  a  distant  streamlet's  gush,  a  smothered  moan 
seemed  to  reach  the  ears  of  both.  Next,  a  stifled 
cry  wts  heard.  A  moment  passed— another — and 
another,  still ;  until  full  five  were  numbered,  like 
ages  passing — one  by  one.  And  still  their  com 
panion  did  not  return.  >:,'  *•' 

Could  it  have  been  his  dying  gasp  they  had  over 
heard  ? — had  Kit  Carson,  the  noble,  the  chivalrous, 
fallen  in  their  cause?  To  Edward,  to  Lincoln, 
there  was  distraction  in  the  thought. 

Hark !  a  step,  a  cautious,  wary  step  approaches ! 
Is  it  the  stealthy  step  of  the  Indian,  stealing  i'rom 
their  murdered  comrade  upon  them,  unawares  ? — 
Hark,  again  ? — is  it  Kit  Carson's  tones  they  hear  ? 

1  Hist !  hist !  come  forth !'  he  whispers,  and  they 
breathlessly  obey. 

The  two  Indians,  their  sentinels,  lay,  side  by 
side,  corpses — with  their  own  tomahawks  buried  in 
their  skulls ! 

'  Follow  me,  follow  me !  Silence,  both !'  And 
their  conductor  quickly,  softly,  leads  the  way. 

To  the  astonished  gratification  of  both,  Kit  Car 
son,  when  he  halted,  a  few  paces  from  the  wig 
wam,  had  paused  beside  three  saddled  Indian 
ponies. 

*  Mount,  mount !'  he  cried ;  *  for  this  I  was  gone 
eo  long.  Mount  and  away  !' 

All  three  bounded  to  their  saddles — life  de 
pended  on  their  haste. 

'  Away,  away ! — across  the  prairie  !'  cried  the 
never-failing  voice. 

And  away,  away  they  darted,  horses  and  men ; 
Kit  Carson  foremost  rode.  On  without  interrup 
tion — one  mile  from  the  commencement  of  their 
flight  they  stopped  to  breathe  their  horses  and 
look  gladly  back. 

4  Escaped,  escaped !'  cried  the  boy,  Edward ; 
and  '  escaped,  thank  God !'  echoed  Lincoln. 

At  the  same  moment  a  sound  like  the  faint  echo 
of  a  distant  war-whoop  smote  upon  their  ears  from 
afar. 

A  faint  glow,  in  the  same  direction,  on  the  dark 
horizon  caught  the  eye  of  Lincoln,  as  he  added, 
'Our  flight  is  discovered,  but  we  care  not  For  them 
now.' 

'  Not  so  sure  of  that !  not  so  sure  of  that !'  ex 
claimed  Kit  Carson,  who  had  risen  erect  in  his 
saddle,  to  survey  the  faintly^illumined  horizon,  and 


as  he  djd  so,  his  massive  brow  contracted  and  grew 
black  as  the  night.  '  Well,  of  all  the  onnat'ral 
varmints  God  ever  made*,  these  red-skins  are  the 
beat!  Ride,  stranger;  ride,  Edward  for  your 
lives  !  Ride !  ride ! !  The  wind  seta  right  toward 
us,  and — ^the  Injuns  have  fired  the  prairie  behind." 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

San  Francisco — The  Recovery  of  the  Packet    Its 
Revelations — The  Expedition  to  the  Gold  Mines. 

'From  poverty,  to  all  the  pride  of  wealth, 
Advance  by  one  bold  bound,  and  not  by  stealth.' 

CHANGE  we^the  scene,  and  return  to  the  voya- 
geuis  of  the  good  ship  S ,  which  we  left  put 
ting  into  the  port  of  San  Francisco,  their  voyage 
at  an  end,  and  their  haven  gained  at  last. 

Readily  will  the  reader  believe,  that  never  the 
adventuroas  band  of  Columbus  hailed  with  greater 
joy  a  newly-discovered  world,  than  thrilled  thro' 
every  fibre  of  the  Gold-Seekers,  as  their  eager 
feet  first  touched  the  s.iil  of  California. 

In  less  than  an  hour  after  the  S cast  archor 

in  the  noble  harbor  of  the  future  metropolis  of  the 
Pacific,  the  ship  was  nearly  deserted,  and  the 
streets  of  San  Francisco  teemed  with  her  delight 
ed  passengers.  The  inhabitants  and  previous  ar 
rivals  flocked  to  the  shores  to  greet  them — all  was 
excitement,  exultation  and  breathless  enthusiasm! 
and  so  inspired  by  the  goldei?  account  by  the  new 
comers,  and  so  elated  by  the  dazzling  representa 
tions  made  on  every  hand,  that  their  impatience 
could  hardly  brook  the  short  delay  necessary  to 
prepare  for  an  immediate  expedition  to  the  Gold 
Mines,  and  many  longed  to  set  out  for  the  Sacra 
mento,  that  very  night.  But  it  was  decided  that 
the  day  after  the  morrow,  the  party  were  to  organ 
ize  for  an  instant  start. 

And  Henry  Vernon— what  of  him  ? — and  John 
Vernon,  the  miser? — and  Ellen  Lincoln? — how 
feared  it,  all  this  while,  with  them? 

The  two  former  we  left  in  a  helpless  state ;  the 
one  from  the  effects  of  delirium,  the  other  from 
a  fearful  wound.  But  the  good  reader  will  also 

bear  in  mind,  that  though  the  arrival  of  the  S 

in  port  had  been  minutely  detailed,  no  particular 
account  was  given  of  the  condition  of  the  suffer 
ers,  during  the  conclusion  of  the  voyage. 

In  this  interim,  however,  time  and  the  beneficial 
effects  of  the  sea-air  had  done  much  for  poor 
Henry  Vernon,  operating  favorably  on  the  deli 
rious  student;  yet  it  was  more  than  probable,  that 
to  Ellen's  soothing  tenderness  and  watchful  care, 
he  chiefly  owed  the  life  that  had  long'hung  upon 
a  thread  so  slender  ;  for  what  so  faithful,  firm  and 
true  as  Love's  sleepless  vigil ! 

A  guardian  angel  she  had  been,  indeed,  to  him ; 
and  as  their  voyage  had  drawn  nearer  and  nearer 
to  its  close  ;  with  joy  unutterable  she  watched  his 
gradual  convalescence ;  until  on  the  glad  day 
which  witnessed  the  S 's  entrance  into  Cali- 


I 

KIT  CARSON. 


71 


fornian  waters,  she  had  persuaded  him  to  venture 
once  more,  as  of  old,  on  deck  ;  thinking  that  the 
joyous  intelligence  might  be  of  more  benefit  than 
the  physicians  art. 

Nor  in  this  was  she  mistaken :  Henry,  too,  par 
ticipated  in  the  universal  ecstacy,  though  Ellen 
imposed  silence  at  first  upon  him,  fearing  that  his 
transports,  too  suddenly  indulged,  might  injurious 
ly  affect  him. 

But  when,  as  we  have  already  narrated,  the  ship 
was  at  length  fairly  to  rest  from  her  long  voyage, 
and  her  little  world  of  adventurers  were  emptying 
themselves  at  once  on  the  town — the  young  con 
valescent  was  no  longer  to  be  restrained-— he 
longed  to  join  the  eager  throng, 

4  I  am  well  now,  dear  Ellen,  fear  not,'  he  said, 
that  eventful  night  of  the  arrival  in  port,  while 
forth,  from  the  ship's  deck,  they  ga/.ed  out  upon 
San  Francisco's  low-roofed  houses  and  crowded 
streets.  *  This  has  completely  restored  me,  I  feel 
it,  in  every  bounding  pulse  and  nerve.  Thank 
God  ^nd  yourself,  dear  girl,  the  warm  blood  goes 
leaping  through  my  veins  once  more,  -and  I  can 
feel  this  heart  thrill  with  the  glow  of  health  as  in 
the  days  gone  by  !' 

*  Be  careful,  O  be  careful  of  your  precious  self, 
dear  Henry.     You  have  had  one 'relapse  already, 
remember!' 

*  That  danger  is  past — I  am  an  invalid  no  longer, 
Ellen.     This   day's  event  has  worked  miracles. — 
Nay,  fear   not  that  I   shall  over-exert  myself  in 
conversing  with  you — the  seal  of  silence  has  been 
upon  my  lips  too  long  already — first  of-  all,  let  me 
know  how  fares  my  uncle,  I   suppose    I    must  call 
him  ?'  he  said,  bitterly. 

'He  has  not  left  the  surgeon's  cabin  since  the 
day  he  was  conveyed  to  it,'  replied  Ellen,  and  then 
seemed  to  pause  reluctantly. 

*  Ha,  but  you  have  more  to  add,  Ellen— why  do 
you  keep  it  back  ?  His  wound,  his  broken  limb —  ?' 

4  It  was  broken  in  three  places — a  compound 
fracture,  I  think  the  surgeon  called  it.  Your  uncle 
is  lamed  for  life,  Henry!* 

4  Lamed  for  life  !'  echoed  the  nephew,  slightly 
starting.  '  Ha !  this,  then,  may  prove  some  bar 
rier  to  his  avarice  ;  if  so,  it  will  be  a  blessing,  not 
a  curse.  Ellen,  where  is  he  ?  I  must  see  him !' 
he  said,  suddenly. 

4  Wherefore,  dear  Henry  ?'  timidly  asked  the 
gentle  girl. 

4  Wherefore,  say  you  ?  for  what,  Ellen,  but  to 
regain  possession  of  the  stolen  packet  ?  It  must 
be  recovered !' 

Before  Ellen  could  detain  him,  he  had  broken 
away  and  fiown  to  the  shrgeon's  room.  The  faith 
ful  girl,  in  alarm  for  the  possible  consequences, 
hastened  after  him  ;  just  in  time  to  see  his  form 
vanish  through  the  door  of  the  hospital.  On  the 
threshold  of  the  latter  she  stopped  to  observe  what 
passed  within,  ready,  if  necessary,  to  interpose. 

The  wounded  man  was  sitting  up  in  bed,  and 
by  the  jingling,  chinking  sound  from  his  ham 
mock,  Lincoln  knew  the  miser  was  telling  his  gold. 


At  the  noise  of  his  entrance  into  the  carefully- 
darkened  hospital,  the  busy  reckoner  of  hoarded 
wealth  started,  and  hastily  concealing  something 
beneath  his  pillow,  in  a  peevish  tone  demanded  to 
know  who  was  there  ? 

4 The  surgeon!'  replied  the  student,  who,  re 
stored  to  the  full  exercise  of  his  faculties,  had  re 
solved  on  a  certain  species  of  tactics. 

4  The  surgeon,  hey  ?  Oh,  is  it  you  ?  Why  did 
you  leave  me  so  long !'  demanded  the  old  man — 
4  he  !  he !  I  suppose  you  think  it's  no  consequence 
to  attend  to  a  poor  old  man  who  hasn't  two-pence 
in  the  world — not  a  penny  !  Oho!  that's  the  way 
with  the  world!'  and  the  miser  chuckled  gleefully 
at  the  idea  of  his  self-alleged  poverty. 

A  sudden  twitch  of  pain  converted  the  incipient 
grin,  abruptly,  into  a  groan,  as  he  hastily  mum 
bled  :  4  Oh  !  there's  that  twinge  again  !  Doctor, 
doctor,  losen  the  bandages  round  my  leg,  and — 
and — ugh !'  and  his  whole  frame  quivered  with 
anguish. 

The  pretended  surgeon  obeyed ;  but  while  af 
fecting  to  relax  the  tightened  ligatures  from  thf 
swollen  limb,  which  he  found  had  sometime  since 
been  set,  and  appearing  to  smooth  tire  pillows  tha; 
supported  the  invalid's  head,  he  was,  in  reality 
busily  searching  for  the  stolen  packet  which  li 
was  convinced  he  had  seen  the  miser  hastily  cot, 
ceal  upon  his  entrance. 

Beneath  the  straw  bolster  his  hand  suddenly  en 
countered  a  package;  by  a  secret  and  skillful 
movement  he  drew  it  rapidly  forth,  a.id  concealed 
it  unperceived.  <• 

The  object  of  his  visit  to  the  miser's  bed  wa- 
gained ! 

'A  fretful  4Stop!'  from  the  peevish  old. man. 
caused  him  to  half  halt  as  he  was  hastening  froi;i 
the  cabin. 

4  Stop,  doctor — stop,  I  say.  Where  is — the— 
ship  now  ?'  was  asked,  in  the  trembling  accent  - 
of  old  age. 

'At  our  voyage's  end — in  the  port  of  Yerl;; 
Buena,  in  the  harbor  and  town  of  San  Francisco, 
was  the  instant  reply  of  the  nephew,  who  sough: 
thus  to  divert  the  wounded  man's  attention  eon, 
pletely  from  himself,  little  anticipative  of  the  elet:  - 
trie  effect  upon  his  auditor. 

A  dagger  planted  that  very  instant  in  his  sido 
could  not  have  caused  the  miser  to  stagger  n; 
more  suddenly  from  his  pillow,  reckless  of  hi- 
wounded  limb,  heedless  of  all  else,  as  he  gasped 
forth,— 

4  San   Francisco!     California!  there,   there,   r.t 
last!     Let  me   go! — let   me   go  !'  he   shouted.— 
Gold — gold — gold  !     O  God !  let  me  go — this  mo 
ment,  this   instant!     Accursed  wound!  you  sha 
not  keep  me  from  it    I  will  not, — will  not  stay- 
Heaven  nor  hell  shall  hold  me   back!     O,  curso- 
ten  thousand  curses !  on  this  leg  !' 

And  with  impotent  maledictions  on  his  foaminc 
lips,  the  monomaniac  fell  back,  grinding  his  teet! 
in  helpless  frenzy. 

4  Henry  !'  cried  the  voice  of  Ellen,  at  his  back 


f 


KIT  CARSON. 


'  you  have  been  too  precipitate.' 

Bui  Henry  Vernon  heeded  not  her  words,  but 
crying,— 

4  The  packet,  Ellen !  I  have  regained  the  sto 
len  packet!'  -he  darted  past  her,  and  hurried  with 
eager  footsteps  to  his  c» bin;  his  Ellen's  eyes  fol 
lowing  him  the  while,  though  her  footsteps  ven 
tured  not  to  follow. 

It  was  all  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  'ere  Henry 
Vernon  reappeared,  and  returning,  placed  in  her 
hands  the  packet  he  had  been  perusing,  simply 
saying,— 

'Read  this,  Ellen.' 

She  looked  closely  at  her  lover,  to  se.°  how  its; 
previous  perusal  had  affected  him  ;  but  he  was 
quite  composed  and  calm,  though  his  handsome 
countenance  wore  the  deepest  expression  of 
thought  she  had  ever  seen  upon  it.  Encouraged 
by  his  manner,  she  in  obedience  to  a  half-impatient 
gesture,  removed  the  envelope  and  read  what  fol- 
lous: — 

4  Spite  of  your  suspicions,  spite  of  childhood's 
vivid  recollections,  spite  of  your  firm  belief  to  the 
contrary,  you,  Henry  Vernon,  are  an  ONLY  SON  ! — 
Think  not  that  I  am  deceiving  you,  now,  Henry — 
I  never  have  deceived  you.  You  maintain  that  you 
have  distinct  remembrance  of  a  brother — yet  a 
brother  you  never  had, 

4 'impossible!'  you  will  say.  Listen  while  I 
solve  to  you  the  mystery;  while  I  clearly  prove 
to  you  that  you  were  both  right  and  \vrong. 

'  You  know  that  your  father  is  rich;  but  he  has 
not  always  been  so.  No,  my  son  ;  the  time  has^ 
been  when  the  merchant-prince  of  Beacon  street' 
was  an  almost  penniless  fur-trader,  on  the  western 
frontier.  For  many  years,  such  was  the  humble, 
hardy  avocation  that  I  followed. 

*  I  was  of  a  good  but  decayed  family  :  with  only 
a  single  wealthy  member  in  it.  This  was  a  dis 
tant  relative,  a  great  traveller,  and  a  very  eccen 
tric  man,  who  had  passed  most  of  his  life  amid  the 
aristocratic  society  and  institutions  of  Europe,  and 
became  affected  with  their  peculiar  spirit.  His 
greatest  pride  lay  in  his  family  name,  republican 
though  he  was — his  constant  hobby  was  the  ge 
nealogical  tree  of  the  Vernons,  which  it  was  his 
chief  delight  to  trace  back  to  the  farthest  English 
origin. 

4  He  was  himself  unmarried  and  childless — my 
brother  and  myself  were  his  nearest  connections  ; 
and  often  he  declared  that  he  should  leave  the 
bulk  of  his  property  to  that  branch  of  the  family 
best  calculated  to  keep  up  the  name. 

John,  my  elder  brother,  was  married,  with  two 
children,  the  one  a  BOY;  the  other,  a  girl.  But  my 
rich  relation  knew  him  to  be  an  incorrigible  miser 
and  a  man  of  sordid  soul,  whom  Nature  had  little 
fitted  to  uphold  the  dtgnity  of  the  family  honors. 
I  was  therefore  preferred  before  him  by  our  com 
mon  relative,  who  desired  that  I  and  my  future 
children  should  enjoy,  instead,  the  ^dignity,  and, 
as  I  was  yet  a  bachelor,  urged  me  to  marry.  And 
yet,  at  the  same  time,  he  pointedly  assured  me. 


that,  in  case  the  fruit  of  such  union  should  be  fe 
male  offspring  only,  with  whom  the  family  name 
must  perish,  he  should  then,  despite  his  prefer 
ence  for  me,  feel  in  duty  bound  to  bestow  his 
wealth  upon  the  son  of  my  brother  John,  who 
would  perpetuate  the  name  of  the  Vernons, 

„'  He  had  little  need  to  urge  me  to  marry  ;  I  was 
even  then  under  an  engagement  to  your  dear  mo 
ther,  whom  I  first  met,  a  sunny  hearted  girl,  in  the 
far  west,  where  she  saw  and  loved  the  poor  fur- 
trader — ana  with  the  old  man's  request  1  was  but 
too  willing  to  comply. 

4  We  were  united,  your  mother  and  myself.— • 
Longingly  I  looked  for  the  day  when  our  firstborn 
should  greet  the -light;  and,  alas!  I  must  confess 
that,  with  a  parent's  natural  affection,  was  mingled 
too  often  the  mercenary  hope  that  its  sex 
might  be  that  which  was  to  bring  wealth  and  for 
tune  to  us. 

'  The  child  was  born — it  was  a--  •'•    GIRL  ! 

4  The  child's  existence  was  well-nigh  purchased 
at  the  cast  of  a  parent's  ;  for,  during  three  long 
months,  the  mother  hujig  between  life  and  death, 
It  was  a  girl,  and  unless  a  SON  called  me  father, 
the  inheritance  would  fall  to  my  miser  brother's 
boy. 

4  It  was  a  daughter  that  had  been  born  to  me-'— 
of  ray  wife's  life  little  hope  was  at  that  time  en 
tertained:  of  a  second  child  there  was  still  less 
prospects.  I  saw  all  my  anticipations  blasted  at 
once,  for  I -felt  that  my  eccentric  relative  would  be 
inexorable,  and  I  knew  that  the  property  must  go 
to  the  son  of  John  Vernon,  since  I  was  not  blessed 
with  mate  offspring. 

4 1  was  poor,  struggling  for  a  bare  subsistence  ; 
a  toiling  trader — I  was  far  away  in  the  wild  westr 
.which  was  then  my  home,  removed  from  observa 
tion  and  scrutiny.  I  thought  of  this,  and  deter 
mined  on  a  desperate  expedient. 

4  From  my  distant  western  home  T  wrote  to  my 
rich  relation  in  Boston  that  a  son  had  been  born  to 
me.  It  is  true,  Harry  !  I  was  far  removed  from 
him — he  did  not  dream  he  was  deceived. 

4  The  child,  as  it  grew  up,  was,  from  the  first, 
dressed  in  boy's  clothes;  no  one  suspected  that  it 
was  not  in  reality  a  boy.  The  wandering  trader's 
life  I  led,  shifting  from  place  to  place,  also  favored 
concealment;  and  my  wife's  remonstrances  and 
scruples,  I  gradually  silenced  by  confessing  the 
true  reason  of  the  strange  deceit,  and  arguing 
that  it  was  an  innocent  deception,  by  means  of 
which  an  old  man's  foolish  whim  would  not  be  suf' 
fered  to  lose  our  child  a  rich  inheritance.  True, 
I  could  not  convince  her  of  its  justice  or  propriety, 
but -the  step  had  been  taken  and  there  was  no  re 
ceding. 

4  The  delusion  was  complete.  The  proud  aris 
tocrat  made  his  last  will  in  favor  of  my  supposed 
son  ;  warned  by  declining  health,  and  when,  after 
not  many  months,  we  received  from  his  own  hand 
the  intelligence  that  he  was  on  his  death-bed,  the 
announcement  was  coupled  .vith  an  injunction  to 
rear  up  *our  young  boy'  a  becoming  heir  to  the 


KIT  CARSON. 


name  as  well  as  to  the  wealth  of  the  Vernons, 
whoso  last  representative  lie  now  was. 

'Meanwhile,  my  wife  hud  so  far  rallied  as  to 
have  regained,  in  a  great  measure,  her  former 
health,  though  she  was  never  so  strong  as  she  had 
been,  and  her  constitution  was,  ever  after,  delicate. 
Contrary  to  my  most  hopeful  anticipations,  she  be 
came  the  mother  of  a  son! 

'  You,  Henry,  were  that  boy. 

'  Your  mother  would  have  instantly  induced  me 
to  allow  your  sister  to  aasume,  for  the  first  time, 
the  dress  of  her  true  sex,  but  I  was  aware  that  the 
estate  was  not  yet  settled,  that  there  might  be  dan 
ger  in  so  early  a  transformation,  and  I  would  not 
five  my  immediate  consent  to' the1  change.  Still, 
did  not  design  that  our  daughter  should  much 
longer  be  unsexed. 

'  The  time  never  came! — delayed  by  me,  full 
three  years  after  your  birth;  years  which  blended 
with  your  childish  recollections  the  existence  of  a 
supposed  brother — destiny  or  Heaven  determined 
that  it  should  never  take  place,  but  in  its  stead 
should  come  a  signal  retribution. 

'Henry,  it  happened  thus.  We  yet  stayed  in 
oar  western  home;  but,  from  a  simple  agent,  our 
newly  acquired  wealth  had  enabled  me  to  become 
one  of  the  heads  of  the  compa-ny,  cmbakring  my 
whole  capital,  with  the  most  profitable  results,  in 
the  north- western  fur  trade. 

'  In  this  prominent  capacity,  I  was  frequently 
brought  in  contact  with  a  weli-known  hunter  and 
trapper,  one  of  the  most  daring  and  resolute  men 
I  ever  encountered  even  among  the  hardy  pioneers- 
of  the  west.  He  was  a  noble  and  singular  being, 
loving  the  wilderness — revelling  in  the  freedom  of 
forest  and  prairie — detesting  (he  very  name  of  city 
or  town;  never  venturing  into  the  habitations  of 
men,  save  when  at  long  intervals  he  came  to  the 
different  stations  to  dispose  of  his' skins  and  furs, 
the  spoils  of  his  hardihood.  His  very  name  is  re 
verenced 'by  the  bold  frontiersmen,  whose  idol  he 
is ;  and  down  to  this  very  day,  though  few,  very 
few  have  st-en  this  hero  of  the  wiliicrness,  every 
woman  and  child  throughout  our  broad  land  has 
heard  of  Kit  Carson  ! 

'  If  but  for  one  thing  alone,  he  would  be  im 
mortalized  in  American  history  as  the  explorer  of 
the  GoH  Region,  the  discoverer  of  the  treasures 
of  California! 

'Business,  I  have  said,  brought  me  in  frequent 
contact  with  this  extraordinary  man — who  is  as 
little  seen  as  he  is  widely  known.  It  was  on  one 
of  these  occasions  that  I  had  taken  a  journey  to 
the  camp  of  Kit  Carson,  to  erigage  him  as  the 
leader  of  a  trading  expedition  to  the  Rocky  Moun  • 
tains.  My  disguised  daughter  I  had  taken  with 
me,  your  kind  mother  thinking  the  journey  would 
be  of  a  link  benefit  to  her. 

'While  I  was  occupied  in  transacting  my  busi 
ness  with  the  hardy  backwoodsman,  she  was  left 
to  amuse  herself  bj  rambling  about  the  encamp 
ment  of  the  hunters,  everything  in  which  excited 
her  childish  curiosit)  and  admiration. 


'  She  was  at  the  time  little  more  than  five  years 
old,  of  course  too  young  to  comprehend  the  dis 
tinction  of  sex,  and  in  her  boyish  dress,  she  would 
never  have  been  suspected  for  a  female  child. 

'  Imagine,  Henry,  a  father's  i^ony  when,  at  the 
conclusion  of  my  interview  with  the  hunter,  the 
little  child  was  nowhere  to  be  found  ! 

*  It  was  the  conjecture  of  Csrson  and  his  men, 
that,  from  the  encampment,  the  child  must  have 
wandered  forth  into  the  forest  and  become  lost  in 
its  mazes.  The  noble  man  needed  not  a  father's 
entreaties  to  dispatch  his  hunters  in  every  direction 
in  search  of  the  lost  one. 

'  The  woods  were  scoured  in  every  direction  for 
miles  around,  but  no  child  was  to  be  found. 

'  What  could  have  become  of  the  lost  one? — 
She  could  have  scarcely  strayed  to  a  great  dis 
tance,  to  so  great  a  distance' as  to  be  beyond  the 
sweep  of  the  scouting  party  J  possibly  they  might 
|  unwittingly  have  passed  her,  unperceived,  in  the 
forest  intricacies.  For  days  the  attempt  was  con 
tinued  :  scarce  a  furlong  of  the  surrounding  woods 
was  left  unvisited. 

'  Kit  Carson  himself  led  the  determined  search, 
but  even  his  matchless  skill  and  experience  could 
discover  no  sign  of  the  little  wanderer.  It  was 
possible,  he  told  me,  that  the  poor  child  might  have 
fallen  a  prey  to  a  savage  animal — the  forest  teemed 
with  wild  beasts,  he  said. 

'  I  besought  him,  in  pity  to  a  father's  feelings, 
not  to  en  sh  every  hope;  above  all,  not  to  leave 
me  in  a  belief  so  terrible.  Hope,  indeed,  the  gen 
erous  Carson  gave  me,  but  O,  how  faint! 

'  It  might  bt;,  he  said,  that  some  wandering  hun 
ter  or  trapper  had  found  my  poor  child  and  borna 
him  to  his  cabin  or  to  the  settlements. 

'The  idea  was  plausible;  the  little  lost  one 
could  not  have  strayed  so  far  as  not  to  have  been 
embraced  within  the  circle  of  the  scout.  T  lere 
were  no  signs  discoverable  of  a  violent  end,  by 
means  of  a  wild  beast;  and  the  surrounding  coun 
try  was  a  region  much  frequented  by  hunters  and 
the  like,  who  might  probably  have  fallen  in  with 
the  object  of  our  unavailing  search. 

With  a  breaking  heart,  at  length,  I  was  forced 
to  leave  Carson,  but  not  until  I  had  won  from  him 
a  promise  that  he  would  leave  no  effort  unmade 
to  discover  some  trace  of  my  poor  boy — as  Car 
son,  ih  common  with  the  world,  believed  your 
poor  sister  to  be.  He  kept  his  word,  that  noble 
man.  He  visited  the  settlements,  one  by  one;  he 
Bought  out  every  hunter  and  frontiersman  whom  it 
was  possible  ro  meet;  his  inquiries  were  incessant 
and  unsleeping,  and  every  advantage  and  facility 
iii  ?  roving,  adventurous  life  gave  him  he  diligent 
ly  improved — alas!  still  in  vain! 

'  When  for  the  last  time  we  parted,  it.  was  with 
a  vow  from  the  gallant  hunter,  that  the  search 
should  not  end  here,  that  he  would  never  altoge 
ther  lose  sight  of  his  past  exertions  or  their  object, 
and  patiently  remain  on  the  look-out  for  any  trace 
of  the  lost  one's  fate. 

'Henry,  the  blow  nearly  killed  your  mother — it 


74 


I 

[IT  C/ 


KIT  CARSON. 


nearly  killed  myself.  From  that  day  I  have  never 
ceased  to  consider  it  a  judgment  of  Providence — 
a  judgment  upon  me  for  my  hypocrisy  and  deceit. 

'  The  last  hope  hgving  perished,  we  removed 
from  a  part  of  the.|COimtry  fraught  with  so  dis 
tressing  an  association  ;  we  left  the  West  forever ; 
we  came  to  Boston,  to  become  one  of  its  richest 
and  most  honored  families. 

'  We  still  had  yourself,  Henry,  or  your  nigh 
heart-broken  mother  would  have  sunk  beneath  the 
.-hock.  ()  God !  how  I  sought  in  the  midst  of 
splendor  to  forget  it!  how  1  strove  to  banish  the 
memory  of  my  sinful  deception,  and  the  judgment 
of  Heaven  upon  it.',-  And  now,  my  son,  yon  can 
at  length  comprehend  why  I  sought  to  avoid  all 
allusion  to  the  fate,  nay,  to  the  very  existence  of 
one,  whose  mere  mention,  forced,  crushingly,  back 
upon  me  agonising  ^collections  of  my  crime! — 
for  such  I  have  always  considered  it.  Now,  too, 
you  can  fathom  the  mystery  of  the  strange,  inex 
plicable  silence  and  secresy  in  which  you  have 
ever  found  this  strange  subject  enshrouded. 

And  now,  Henry,  my  dear,  dear  boy,  let  me  add, 
finally,  one  more  confession.  But  that  yoa  were 
bound  on  a  far  voyage  to  a  land  where  it  is  possi 
ble  that  you  may  meet  the  only  man  to  whom  de 
ceitful  hope  can  louk  for  any  clue  to  the  .secret 
which  time  has  so  long  jealously  kept,  you  might 
never  have  known  that  which  it  was  this  packet's 
purpose  to  reveal  to  you. 

4  Seek  out  Kit  Carson — remind  him  of  his  vow  P 

Here  the  confession  abruptly  ended, closing  with 
this  last  injunction.  The  son  repeated  it  as  the 
reader  finished, — 

*  Seek  out  Kit  Carson ! — remind  him  of  his  vow ! 
This  is  iny  father's  bidding !   May  fortune  forever 
frown  on  me  if  I  fulfill  it  not !'  said  Henry  Vernon, 
solemnly. 

*  Hold,  dear  Hemy,  hold !'  exclaimed  the  anxious 
girl,  as  she  saw  his  compressed  lip,  clenched  hand, 
and  resolute  expression,  'you  surely  do  not  mean, 
so  soon  after  your  sickness,  to — to — to ' 

4 1  do,  Ellen ;  the  expedition  for  the  mines  sets 
out  in  two  days — I  join  that  expedition!  Seek 
not  to  dissuade  me ;  even  with  you,  dear  girl,  I 
must  be  inexorable,  here.  I  have  resolved — I 
start  with  the  Gold  Hunters  the  day  after  to-mor 
row,  up  the  Sacramento — I  shall  find  Kit  Cason 
there.' 

There  was  a  firmness,  a  determination,  in  the 
speaker's  tones,  as  these  words  were  said,  that, 
convinced  our  heroine  opposition  was  indeed  vain. 

She  realized  that,  to  resist  the  bent  of  his  mind 
would  be  perhaps  of  more  injury  in  his  present  ex 
citement  on  the  subject,  than  its  indulgence. 

Between  the  lovers  a  long  and  earnest  conver 
sation  then  took  place.  Its  substance  may  be  in 
ferred  from  the  subsequent  proceedings  of  both. 

The  ensuing  morning  they  repaired  on  shore 
together ;  while  they  had  been  preceded  by  nearly 

;ill  of  the  S 's  passengers  and  people,  many 

of  whom  they  met  in  the  streets  of  the  town. 


The  town  itself  was  a  compact  collection  of 
rude  dwellings  of  wood  ;  with  its  roughly-con 
structed  log  huts  and  hastily-built  shanties — pre 
senting  much  the  appearance  of  a  western  settle 
ment. 

Before,  stretched  in  unruffled  beauty,  lay  the 
placid  Bay  of  San  Francisco  ;  the  finest  harbor  to 
be  found  on  the  American  coast  of  the  Pacific, 
affording  its  brilliant  promise  of  the  destined  com 
mercial  pre-eminence  of  that,  little  sea-shore  town, 
to  the  eastward  of  which,  in  the  back -ground  far 
behind,  towered  up  the  blue  outlines  of  the  dis 
tant  range  of  mountains,  in  whose  dark  gorges, 
volcanic  clefts  and  descending  streams  lay  hidden 
the  golden  ore,  which,  at  that  very  moment,  caused 
to  turn  upon  it  the  eyes  of  the  whole  world  ;  each 
sparkling  atom,  prophetic  of  California's  future 
destiny,  as  one  of  the  most  populous  regions  upon 
the  known  earth,  with  San  Francisco  for  its  cen 
tre,  and,  in  the  latter,  the  mightiest  metropolis  in 
the  west. 

By  Henry  and  his  sweet  companion,  several 
hours  were  spent  in  viewing  its  picturesque  beau 
ties,  and  many  more  in  making  the  arrangements 
which  were  their  special  object.  Young  Vernop 
and  his  fair  friend  soon  ascertained,  satisfactorily, 
that  there  were,  at  the  present  time,  in  San  Fran 
cisco,  the  wives  of  several  of  the  enterprising 
gentlemen  who  had  preceded  our  adventurers,  and 
who  were  absent  at  the  mines,  leaving  their  fami 
lies  in  the  town. 

Vernon,  knowing  this,  had  prevailed  upon  Ellen 
to  place  her,  in  her  true  character,  under  the  pro 
tection  of  these  ladies  ;  while  he  himself  proceed 
ed  to  join  the  husbands  of  the  latter  at  the  mines, 
little  more  than  a  hundred  miles  distant  from  the 
town  of  San  Francisco. 

True,  it  was  not  until  after  much  opposition  on 
the  part  of  Ellen,  that  she  could  be  persuaded  to 
the  separation  from  him  she  so  devoutly  loved. 
But  prudence  and  a  lover's  eloquence  succeeded. 

It  was  arranged  that,  while  on  the  morrow  Hen 
ry  was  to  start  with  the  expedition,  Ellen  resum 
ing  once  more  the  legitimate  dress  of  her  sex,  so 
long  abandoned  for  a  brother's,  as  well  as  a  lover's 
sake,  should  place  herself  under  the  matronly 
charge  and  protection  of  these  kind  ladies. 

With  the  earliest  dawn  the  expedition  of  which 
Vernon  was  to  be  a  member,  was  to  start :  and  at 
sunset  of  the  second  day  after  the  arrival  of  the 
adventurers,  took  place  the  twilight  parting  of  the 
lovers,  now  for  the  first  time  about  to  be  separated, 
since  their  first  departure  from  the  Tri-mount  City 
of  the  East. 

'  Farewell,  then.,  and  Heaven's  care  be  over  you,* 
fondly  added  Vernon,  as  they  made  their  last 
adieu. 

Bending  down  from  the  saddle  of  the  horse  he 
had  already  mounted,  preparatory  to  joining  the 
party,  with  whom  he  was  to  proceed,  at  their  quar 
ters,  he  pressed  a  lover's  devoted  kiss  to  the  rich 
warm  lips  and  glowing  choek  of  the  noble  girl 
who  had  so  well  proved  the  strength  and  purity  of 


KIT  CARSON. 


75 


her  affection;  and  beautiful,  indeed,  she  looked, 
and  O,  how  supremely  so,  in  his  partial  eyes,  in1 
the  simple  but  tasteful  cottage-maiden's  dress  she 
now  wore. 

1  God  bless  and  preserve  you,  Henry !'  she  mur 
mured,  tremulously. 

*  And  you,  dear,  dear  Ellen !  I  leave  you  well 
situated,  do  I  not,  dearest?'  he  asked,  tenderly. 

'  Yes,  dear  Henry,  yes ;  as  well  and  happily  as 
I  can  be  in  your  absence.  Those  ladies  vare  very 
kind  to  me ;  have  no  fears  on  my  account.' 

4  Soon,  soon  will  I  return  again ;  and  now,  for  a 
while,  farewell,  my  own  dear  Ellen,  noblest  of 
your  sex !' 

One  last  kiss,  one  fond  caress,  one  more  mur 
mured  blessing,  and  then  reseating  himself  firmly 
in  the  saddle  he  grasped  the  rein,  paused  to  turn 
on  Ellen  the  last  lingering  look — then,  with  a  full 
heart,  touched,  lightly,  his  horse  with  the  whip, 
and  rode  rapidly  away. 

Such  was  the  lovers'  parting  on  Sacramento's 
golden,  waters, 

Henry  Vernon  rode  rapidly  and  nervously,  with 
the  view  of  freeing  himself,  in  some  measure  from 
the  depression  of  this  agitating  parting;  but  the 
quarters  were  in  close  vicinity  to  that  section  of 
the  town,  and  the  youthful  horseman  soon  safely 
reached  the  end  of  that  night's  ride. 

Here,  on  arriving,  he  found,  as  he  expected, 
everything  in  the  most  perfect  readiness  for  the 
morrow's  expedition ;  and  like  the  rest,  he  retired 
early  to  rep.tse,  to  recruit  his  "energies  for  the  ar 
duous  undertaki  -g  of  the  coming  day. 

Soundly  and  sweetly  did  he  slumber,  and  Ellen's 
image  was  the  vision-queen  of  all  his  dreams;  but 
little  did  he  suspect  the  events  which  the  course 
of  another  twenty-four  hours  was  to  bring  forth  ; 
and  slumbered  on,  unconscious  that  the  footsteps 
of  his  horse,  that  very  night,  had  been  tracked  to 
Ellen's  side  ;  his  converse  overheard ;  his  proposed 
plans  ascertained,  by  a  hired  tool  of  John  Vernon, 
the  miser,  and  the  latter  meanwhile  prepared  to 
defeat,  on  the  morrow,  his  nephew's  most  cher 
ished  schemes ! 

Yet  it  was  so !  The  ruin  of  Henry  had,  that 
night,  been  plotted ! 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

The  Ruin  of  Henry  Plotted,  and  the  Caravan  pro 
ceeds  without  him. — The  Wonders  of  the  Gold 
Region. — 'The  Gold  Hunters  Reaping  their  Har 
vest  at  last. — The  Monomaniac  in  his  Golden 
Elysium ! 

Gold!  gold!  yellow  gold! — magic  is  its  power! 
Monarch  of  the  whole   world,  it  rules  each  hour. 
Gold,  the  great  victor — wl  ich  nor  bnlr,  nor  chain, 
Nor  brazen  wall,  can  fetter  or  restrain. 
Gold  scoffs  at  keys,  to  bonds  it  will  not  bow  ; 
Gold  bends  proud  beauty  to  its  sordid  vow. 
The  virgin  zone  of  DansB,  did  Zeuse, 
In  golden  shower  descending,  erst  unloose ; 


Rev'linjr  in  maiden  charms, — a  legend  old, 
Wherein  I  learned  the  mighty  power  of  gold  ! 
Ye  lovers,  from  Venus,  sweet  prayers  withhold— - 
No  need  of  these,  if  ye  have  only  gold !' 

GREEK  TRANSLATION. 

AT  sunrise  the  whole  party  were  up  betimes, 
all  full  of  eagerness  for  an  immediate  start.  Each 
moment's  necessary  detention  was  felt  as  aggra 
vation  ;  and  the  universal  impatience  could  scarce 
brook  the  most  unavoidable  delay.  Where,  how 
ever,  all  were  equally  eager,  little  hindrance  was 
likely  to  interpose  ;  and  in  somewhat  less  than  an 
hour  from  the  assembling  of  the  members,  the  sig 
nal  was  given,  and  the  expedition  got  under  way 

The  expedition  consisted  of  the  three  hundred 

passengers  of  the  S ,  and  mounted  and 

equipped  for  the  last  grand  stage  in  their  journey, 
of  course  composed  quite  a  caravan.  Up  the  Sac 
ramento  their  route  lay  ;  for  a  little  short  of  a  hun 
dred  miles  they  were  to  follow  its  course,  and  then 
they  would  find  themselves,  at  the  end  of  this  dis 
tance,  in  the  heart  of  the  Gold  Region. 

Insensibly  Henry  Vernon  soon  caught  the  ex 
hilarating  infection  of  the  invigorating  ride — and 
as  the  buoyant  spirits  of  light-hearted  youth  came 
with  cheering  revulsion  back  on  him,  he  amused 
himself  for  the  first  hour  or  so  in  galloping  in  ad 
vance  of  the  more  leisurely  moving  caravan,  and 
passing  the  whole  of  the  troop  in  review  on  his 
return,  thus  allowing  himself  to  observe  its  entire 
extent  at  his  ease. 

Mules,  in  place  of  horses,  were  quite  generally 
employed,  as  more  rugged  and  serviceable  in  the 
rough  mountainous  country  through  which  the 
caravan  was  to  pass. 

It  was,  consequently,  with  some  passing  sur 
prise,  that  our  young  hero  noticed  among  the 
troop,  after  pas  ing  and  repassing  it  several  times, 
unobserved,  what  seemed  to  be  a  species  of  cov 
ered  hoise  litter,  with  wheels  attached,  and  drawn 
by  two  small  but  stout  California  ponies,  one  of 
which,  in  the  capacity  of  postilion,  a  tall  native 
bestrode. 

Curious  to  know  its  purpose  and  contents,  Hen 
ry  reined  up  his  horse  by  the  side  of  the  man,  and 
put  his  query. 

'  Oh,  'tis  one  of  the  company  who  got  badly" 
'hurt,'  was  the  reply,  in  mongrel  Spanish,  in  which 
tongue,  Henry,  rightly  judging  of  his  Mexican 
extraction  had  accosted  the  other ;  for  his  colle 
giate  education  had  placed  more  than  one  lan 
guage  at  his  command  ;  'one  of  the  company  who 
got  badly  hurt,  and  whom  we  have  to  carry  thus.' 

4  Ah !  what  was  the  nature  of  his  wound,  my 
good  fellow  ?' 

'  A  broken  arm  or  leg,  I  believe,'  replied  the 
postillion. 

Henry  started  slightly,  but  immediately  said, — 

'  What  sort  of  a  man  is  he,  my  friend? — old  or 
young  ?' 

1  An  old  man — unt  •flmerica'W  /*  waa  the  care 
less  response. 


76 


KI1 


T  CARSON. 


1  Ha !  an  American  ?  His  name,  friend  ?  what 
is  his  name  ?'  asked  the  young  man,  riding  along 
side,  and  speaking  in  a  familiar  tone. 

'  Quien  sabe !  who  knows?' rejoined  the  Cali- 
fornian,  with  a  Californian's  everlasting  answer. 

He  must  be,  at  all  events,  a  strange  sort  of  char 
acter,  who,  with  a  broken  limb,  would  be  so  anx 
ious  to  hurry  to  the  gold  regions  ?'  added  Henry, 
carelessly. 

'Quien  sabe  ?  L'oro  est  1'oro  !  Gold  is  gold  !' 
was  the  imeperturbable  reply,  and  the  postillion 
jogged  on. 

'[  suspect,'  muttered  Henry,  emphatically  to 
himself. 

Without  farther  ado  he  checked  his  horse  ab 
ruptly  beside  the  litter,  and  with  a  bold  hand  lift 
ing  the  curtain,  unceremoniously  looked  in. 

He  dropped  it  again,  instantly,  and  his  horse 
bounded  on. 

'  It  is  as  I  suspected  ;  my  miser  uncle,  in  spite 
of  his  illness,  his  crippled  state.  Holy  Heaven, 
to  what  lengths  will  the  fiend  of  avarice  drive  a 
man,  when  once  it  has  obtained  firm  possession  of 
him  !  The  insensate  cravings  of  insane  cupidity 
in  him,  are  superior  to  even  physical  prostration  ; 
completely  hurried  away  by  his  avarice,. it  seerns 
he  has  procured  himself  to  be  carried,  a  helpless 
cripple,  to  the  very  feet  of  his  golden  idol !  Poor, 
poor  monomaniac ! 

'  He  knew  me,  he  recognised  me ! — I  saw  it  in 
kis  bleary  eye,  though  but  for  a  moment  I  caught 
it.  Well,  well:  we  shall  see  what  will  corne  of 
it.  At  all  events,  he's  my  uncle — I  will  remem 
ber  that.  I  must  keep  my  eye  on  him,  however ; 
I  must  keep  my  eye  on  him.' 

Thrice  during  the  day  the  expedition  halted ; 
the  last  time  for  the  evening  meal  and  for  the 
night;  the  caravan  having  accomplished,  without 
incident,  ten  Spanish  leagues,  or  about  thirty  Eng 
lish  miles,  the  first  twelve  Hours' journey. 

A  deep  mountain  gorge  was  their  halting  place, 
and  here  they  pitched  their  tonts  and  refreshed 
themselves  with  a  plain  but  substantial  supper. 

Each  man  had  his  respective  rations  ;  and  Henry, 
who  had  taken  care  to  provide  himself  with  that 
necessity,  as  a  portion  of  his  outfit,  sat  with  a  bot 
tle  of  wine  by  his  side,  breaking-  his  fast  with  a 
hearty  appetite.  He  had  refreshed  himself  with 
half-a-dozen  glasses  of  the  welcome  Madeira, 
whieh  he  greatly  needed,  when  a  man  who  had 
apparently  just  received  his  own  allowance,  con 
sisting  of  the  simple  rations  only,  came  and  sat 
down  close, to  him;  chancing  to  stumble  over  the 
young  man's  foot  as  he  did  so,  for  which,  in  bro 
ken  Spanish,  he  heartily  apologised. 

It  was  the  Cahfornian. 

Henry's  attention  attracted  to  him  by  this  tri 
lling  incident,  he,  bethinking  himself  of  the  lilter 
and  its  occupant,  resolved  to  improve  the  opportu 
nity  to  elicit  whatever  he  might  from  the  postil 
lion  ;  and  as  the  man  seemed  tired  and  fatigued, 
and  looked  more  than  once  wistfully,  as  heihought 
at  the  wine,  our  hero  courteously  asked  him  if  he 


would  not  refresh  himself  with  a  glass,3iid  passed 
ihe  bottle  to  him,  on  receiving  a  grateful  accept 
ance. 

The  Californian  took  several  deep  draughts, 
with  evident  relish  ;  but  he  was  either  very  clum 
sy,  or  not  very  familiar  with  the  handling  of  such 
luxuries,  for  it  was  some  moments  ere,  wit  many 
thanks  and  protestations  of  gratitude,  he  returned 
the  bottle. 

*  Why,  we  have  not   half-emptied  it  yet,  man,' 
said  Vernon,  who  intended  it  should  preface  an 
immediate  conversation   on  an   important   point; 
'  we  must  finish  it  between  us.' 

To  Henry's  surprise,  the  postillion,  who  had 
drank  with  such  visible  relish  before,  now  de 
clined  the  proffered  civility. 

'Drink,  my  good  man,  drink!'  persisted  his  host, 
who  suspected  that  the  Spaniards,  like  most  other 
men,  grow  confidential  in  their  cups. 

Tne  dark-skinned  native  of  California  hesitated 
for  the  moment— then  took  the  goblet  and  drained 
it  to  the  dregs. 

Henry  with  his  own  hands,  poured  another  out 
for  him,  which  was  also  drained,  without  any  far 
ther  difficulty  on  the  part  of  the  postillion ;  and 
then  filling  one  more  companion-glass  for  himself, 
was  revolving  in  his  mind  the  best  mode  of  open 
ing  the  attack,  when  he  felt  the  hand  which  set 
down  the  emptied  glass  tremble  slightly,  experi 
encing  also  a  giddiness  of  the  head. 

*  I  have  drank  too  much  wine,  I  fear,'  he  said  to 
himself.      '  I  cannot  bear  so  much  as  I  have  been 
accustomed  to,  on  my  still  weak  stomach.' 

The  moment  after,  he  felt  an  unusual  dizziness 
about  his  eyes,  attended  with  a  sensation  of  strange 
drowsiness  ;  and  confirmed  in  the  belief  that  he 
had  unintentionally  imbibed  too  largely,  with  an 
irresistible  inclination  to  sleep,  he  arose,  and  bid 
ding  his  companion  of  the  cups  an  abrupt  good 
night,  staggered  to  his  tent. 

Ere  he  could  undress  himself,  the  stupor  ttyat 
had  so  suddenly  seized  his  faculties  tot  <Jly  over 
powered  him,  and  ho  sank  upon  the  bed  in  a  state 
of  torpor. 

The  Californian,  meanwhile,  had  arisen,  and, 
with  a  slight  smile,  disappeared. 

Bright  and  early  on  the  morrow,  was  the  cara 
van  in  motion,  and,  wich  the  rising  sun,  commenced 
the  second  day's  journey  up  the  Sacramento. 

A  rough  hand  put  aside  the  curtains  of  the  lit* 
ter ;  and  a  dark  face  looked  in  ;  while  from  withii 
the  cracked  voice  of  old  age  demanded,  though 
in  tones  hushed  to  trembling  caution : — 

'  Is  it  done,  Carl  ?' 

'  It  is — I  gave  him  the  drugged  potion  with  his 
wine.' 

'How  h — how?'  asked  the  same  tremulous, 
eager  voice. 

'  I  slipped  the  powder  into  the  bottle,  while  pre 
tending  to  fumble  with  the  cork  ! — he  invited  me 
to  take  wine  with  him.  After  I  had  drugged  it, 
he  pressed  rne  to  drink  more.  I  was  embarrassed 
at  first,  and  at  fault  how  to  act ;  but  Jh*2  insisted  or* 


KIT  CARSON. 


77 


sny  taking  it,  and  then  I  bethought  me  of  pouring 
the  liquor  down  my  breast,  while  seeming  to  drain 
the  last  drop.  But  he  helped  himself  again  to  the 
drugged  wine,  and  th;it  just  settled  him.  He  went 
staggering  off  to  bed  and,  Caramba  !  there  he  will 
be  likely  to  stay,  for  twenty -four  hours  to  come !' 
'  But  is  the  narcotic  sure  ?' 

*  Sure !  Americano  ?      St.  Francis  !  £he  young 
caballero  will  not  waken  till  the  sun  has  twice 
gone  down  ;  the  sleeping  potion  has  done  its  work, 
trust  me,  Senor.' 

'And  the  restV  said  the  miser,  speaking  with  a 
meaning1  emphasis. 

*•  All  is  done.  In  the  night  I  went  to  him,  and 
carrying  him  d^little  distance  from  the  tent,  con 
cealed  him  among  the  tall  bushes.  HP  was  in  a 
death-like  stupor,  senor.  'Hie  first  thing  this  morn 
ing,  I  unslaked  his  tent  and  reloaded  the  horses ; 
they  are  now  safely  on  their  way  with  the  caravan 
— while  their  master  remains  behind,  ir,i  the  moun 
tain  pass.  He  has  not  been  missed? 

'  And  when  will  that  be?' 

*  To-night,  perhaps — not  before.      By  that  time 
the  wolves  will  have  found  and  devoured  him!' 

From  within  the  litter  came  the  sound  of  a 
gleeful  chuckle,  and  then  its  inmate  seemed  to  be 
haggling  with  the  other  relative  to  the  price  of  his 
services. 

*  Nay,  nay,'  remonstrated  the  miser,  in  an  ex 
postulating  tone  ;  '  I  did  not  agree  to  give  thee  so 
much,  by  half,' 

'  Demonio !  but  them  didst,  senor,'  retorted  the 
postillion,  sharply  ;  '  what!  dost  thou  seek  to  cheat 
me  of  my  pay,  now  that  the  work  is  done  :' 

*  No,  no,  s/ood  Carl ;   but  you  are  exhorbitant, 
very  exhorbitant !  would  not  one-half  repay  your 
trouble  ?' 

;  By  San  Jago  !  have  a  care,  old  man  ! — and  the 
Californian  muttered  a  hoarse  threat  to  undo  all 
th"t  ho  had  done,  by  at  once  apprizing  the  party 
of  Hi ^  disappearance  of  one  of  their  number. 

The  stern  menace  seemed  to  terrify  the  miser 
into  keeping  good  faith  with  his  tool,  for  with  a 
heavy  sigh  he  ceased  to  expostulate,  and  with  a 
still  deeper  groan  surrendered  the  money  that 
caused  him  such  an  effort  to  part  with,  saying, — 

*  There !   ~ake  it ;  it  was  only  a  joke — only  a 
joke  !     But  it  leaves  me  poor,  very  poor ;  it's  hard 
to  take  the  last  ha'penny  from  a  poor  old  man  !' 

The  Californian  received  the  money  with  a  well 
pleased  smile,  and  was  withdrawing  to  resume 
his  character  of  postillion,  when  the  miser  called 
him  back,  and  addressed  him  'with  the  words, — 

'You  are  sure  it  was  him'} — there  war  no  mis- 
ake  in  the  person?' 

'  Caramba,  no  !  it  was  the  same  Americano  who 
qiujstioned  me  so  closely  yesterday,  and  ended  by 
looking  in  at  you  through  the  curfains — the  same 
that  you  hired  me  to  follow,  and  door  his  footsteps, 
the  night  before  the  expedition  started.  A  Cali 
fornian  never  mistakes.' 

The  man,  once  more  dropping  the  palanquin 


curtain,  mounted  his  pony,  and  the  litter  moved 
briskly  forward. 

*  Good  !  good !'  muttered  the  elated  miser,  glee 
fully  ;  '  very  good  indeed !  The  son  will  be  torn 
to  pieces  by  wild  beasts  in  the  gorge,  and  the  fa 
ther  will  no  longer  have  an  heir  to  his  fortune — 
the  fortune  he  swindled  my  children  out  of. 

'  My  children  /'  he  repeated,  with  a  start ;  '  I 
wonder  what  can  have  become  of  them?— how 
cunningly  they  have  concealed  themselves  from 
me  these  many  years — where  are  they  ?  Well, 
well,  a  family's  expensive — very  expensive !'  ad 
ded  the  old  man,  as  if  to  console  himself  by  the 
reflection;  'yes,  yes;  I  should  have  been  ruined, 

and — and but  it  matters  not;  this  nephew  of 

mine  is  out  of  my  way  at  last: — I  thought  I  should 
find  some  means  to  rid  me  of  him,  when  we  came 
to  California  together !  I've  not  poisoned  him, 
though— not  murdered  him — no,  no ! — -only  given 
him  a  little  laudanum  in  his  drinkr— and — and  the 
wolves,  the  wolves  will  do  the  rest.' 

Steadily  the  caravan  of  the  Gold  Seekers  pur 
sued  its  course. 

To  the  mining  region,  from  the  walls  of  S;m 
Francisco  it  was  some  five  days  travel,  Alono*  the 
Sacramento  the  expedition  continued  its  course; 
fording  in  its  way,  successively,  the  Rio  de  los 
Americanos  and  the  Rio  Pamos. 

Frequently  the  expedition  encountered  nurner 
ous  parties  of  Indians,  who  seemed  going,likewise, 
in  the  direction  of  the  mines,  and  who,  whether 
awed  by  its  numbers  or  equally  anxious  to  reach 
the  golden  regions,  did  not  attempt  to  molest  the 
party ;  which  found  its  security,  also,  in  its  numer 
ical  strength,  from  the  wild  beasts  with  which  the 
country  was  infested,  particularly  in  the  wild 
mountain  gorges  through  which  wound  the  ser 
pentine  Sacramento. 

It  was  twelve  o'clock  on  the  fifth  day  when  the 
three  hundred  adventurers  of  the  Sacramento  de 
scended  the  gradual  slope  leading  to  the  centre 
of  the  valley.  From  the  surrounding  lands, 
on  every  side,  poured  down  a  hundred  little 
streams  and  rivulets ;  and  in  the  level  plain  be 
low,  where  met  the  sparkling  waters,  as  far  as  the 
eye  could  reach,  were  seen  a  countless  host  of 
human  forms,  with  bodies  bent,  and  spade  and 
pickaxe  shining  in  the  meridian  sun.  It  was  Gold 
Diggers  that  they  saw  at  their  work ! 

'  The  Gold  Diggers  !  the  Gold  Diggers  !'  ech 
oed  each  voice  amid  the  three  hundred  new  com 
ers,  who,  from  the  heights  above  looked  enviously 
down  upon  the  tireless  laborers  below. 

Each  bit  was  pressed,  each  bridle  tighter  drawn, 
each  mule  was  made  to  feel  the  spur,  as  without 
one  cheer,  without  one  shout,  m  breathless,  speech 
less  eagerness  all,  the  whole  troop  broke  into  a 
gallop,  as  by  one  simultaneous  impulse  at  the  in 
spiring  sight — the  spectacle  for  which  each  thirst 
ing  soul  had  so  long  panted,  and  dashed  like  mad 
men  down  the  acclivity ! 

Down,  down !  and  on,  on !  with  rein  unslack- 
ening,  pace  all  unrelaxed  the  troop  rode  on. 


78 


KIT  CARSON. 


Onward  !  as  if  a  loosed  legjon  of  pursuing  fiends 
were  at  their  back,  and  Paradise  itself  before. 
Paradise,  indeed !  an  earthly  paradise  it  seemed. 
Nearer  and  nearer,  as  in  their  reckless  speed 
they  sped  along:,  drew  they  to  the  sparkling 
streamlets,  with  their  glittering  sands  and  their 
flashing  waters,  darkened  foj  miles  along  by  the 
thousands  searching  for  their  secret  store.  As  on, 
Btill  on,  like  the  wind  they  came,  perspiring  at  ev 
ery  pore,  their  starting  eyes  fixed  on  the  scene  be 
fore  them ;  who  shall  describe  the  feelings  of  each 
manly  breast? 

Thrilling,  exciting,  soul-convulsing,  indeed,  was 
that  scene !  Too  vast  in  numbers  to  be  counted, 
outspread  as  on  a  chart,  was  the  army  of  the  Gold 
Diggers  of  the  Sacramento.  In  the  streams,  ankle- 
deep,  bringing  up,  at  each  dip,  the  sand-mingled 
dust  of  the.precious  ore — on  the  shores,  in  parties 
of  three  and  four,  washing  and  sifting  the  golden 
atoms! — some  with  the  simplest,  tools,  some  with 
labor-saving  machines,  in  the  dried  up  beds  of  the 
mountain  (Streams,  gathering  the  precious  metal 
in  glittering  scales ! — on  the  rocks  above,  in  the 
clefts  and  crevices  of  "the  cliffs,  with  pick-axe  and 
spade,  laying  open  to  view  the  shining  globules 
of  pure  gold,  in  minute  but  precious  particles — 
what  a  scene  !  what  a  spectacle ! 

Its  dazzling,  bewildering  influence,  was  mani 
fest  on  every  man  of  the  new-comers.  As  they 
reached  the  valley,  gained  its  midst,  rode  at  the 
same  desperate  pace  in  among  the  myriad  of  op 
eratives,  more  than  one  poor  horse  fell  dead  by 
the  way.  But  their  unhorsed  riders  paused  not, 
halted  not  for  that,  and  fast  as  their  hapless  steeds 
gave  out,  their  on  ners  left  them  to  die,  and  sped 
after  the  troop  on  foot. 

On,  on — still  on,  they  hurried :  for  all  of  three 
miles  after  the  first  outpost  of  the  busy  miners 
was  gained  ;  onward  in  eager  quest  of  an  unoccu 
pied  area  of  gold  strewn  land,  sufficiently  large 
to  accommodate  their  entire  party. 

At  last  they  found  it,  though  not  until  mile  after 
mile,  and  hundreds  after  hundreds  of  toiling  labor 
ers,  had  been  hurried  precipitately  by ;  each 
glimpse  of  the  successful  operatives  firing  their 
blood  to  the  fever-heat  which  human  excitement, 
tti  its  greatest  intensity,  reaches. 

But  here,  at  length,  in  a  bend  of  the  gHding 
Sacramento,  with  a  hundred  tiny  springs  running 
down  from  the  mountains  to  swell  its  gold-freight 
ed  waters,  they  discovered  the  sought  for  place. 

With  the  necessary  tools  and  implements,  they 
were,  of  course,  fully  provided,  and  having  the  ad 
vantage  of  being  an  organized  company,  they  en 
tered  under  the  most  favorable  circumstances 
upon  the  fascinating  labor  before  them. 

Stragglers  there  were,  thougli  unwilling  linger 
ers — comprising  those  whose  horses  had  in  the 
headlong  ride  fUlen  victims  to  their  master's  eag 
erness.  Among  them  appeared  also  a  palanquin, 
drawn  by  two  ponies  and  driven  by  a  single  pos 
tillion. 

It  halted  among  the  gold  diggers;  a  peevish 


but  excited  voice  cried  out  from  within ;  and  ere 
Carl,  the  Californian,  could  throw  himself  from  his 
postillion's  seat  to  answer  the  summons,  the  cur 
tains  of  John  Vernon's  litter  were  drawn  quickly 
aside,  and  thf  crippled  miser  threw  himself  bodi 
ly  from  his  couch — fell  to  the  ground,  staggered 
up  again,  his  wounded  limb  bending  under  him 
like  a  willow  wand. 

As  his  glistening,  snake-like  eye  marked  the 
millions  of  glittering  atoms  with  which  sparkled 
and  flashed  the  gold-mingling  sands,  he  uttered  a 
cry  of  exulting  avarice,  of  triumphant  cupidity, 
and  with  limbs  and  body  to  their  utmost  tension 
outstretched,  as  if  to  grasp  the  whole  wealth  of 
California  at  one  insatiate  clutch,  tkrew  himself  at 
full  length  on  that  talismanic  soil,  while  in  maniac 
incoherence,  that  soul -perverted  old  man  shouted 
forth,— 

'  Mine,  mine  /' — Gold  ! — gold  ! — millions  on  mil 
lions  of  gold !  Away,  av/ay ! — ye  shall  not  touch 
it— ye  shall  not  have  one  grain  of  it !  It  is  mine, 
mine,  alone!  Away,  I  tell  ye,  away — I  will  have 
it  all — yes,  all !  What  right  have  ye  to  it  ? — touch 
it — touch  one  single  atom  of  it,  if  ye  dare !  Gold 
— gold  inexhaustible ! — more  than  all  the  riches 
of  the  Indies — it  is  mine — mine  all ! — gold,  blessed, 
blessed,  gold  '' 

And  over  the  sparkling  sands,  over  the  glitter 
ing  grains,  over  the  precious  dust  of  the  Sacra 
mento,  cowered  and  grovelled,  in  his  insane  ec- 
stacy,  the  miser — the  Gold-monomaniac ! 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

The  Prairie  on  Fire.— The  Flight  from  the  Con 
flagration. — Af  Race  ivith  the  Burning  Element. 
— Kit  Carson's  Protege. — The  boy  Edward,  and 
a  Discovery. 

From  the  fire  fiend  fly 

Speed !  Oh,  speed ! 
The  flames  are  nigh — 

Great  is  our  need  ! 

Br  Carson  and  his  companions  is  our  attention 
claimed,  once  more. 

'  The  prairie  is  on  fire !  the  prairie  is  on  fire ! 
— ride !  ride !'  were  the  last  words  of  Kit  Carson ; 
and  words  more  thrilling,  words  mere  full  of  start 
ling  terror,  never  rang  upon  the  ears  of  the  fear- 
stricken  auditors. 

The  gallant  hunter  waiving  his  hand,  had  darted 
on  before,  the  clattering  of  his  horse's  hoofs  ming 
ling  with  that  ringing  cry.  And  as  that  shou 
that  warning  shout  rang  out,  Eugene  and  the  boy 
Edward  took,  also,  the  alarm,  and  plying  whip 
and  rein,  their  stout  ponies  dashed  along,  almost 
blindly  at  first,  until  a  friendly  voice  arrested  their 
uncertain  course. 

'  Stop  !  both  of  you  stop !  Where  are  you 
going  ?  This  way,  this  way  !' 

Re-called  to  himslf  by  the  startling  injunction, 
and'  the  demand  that  preceded  it,  Lincoln,  bend 


KIT  CARSON. 


79 


ing  forward  in  his  saddle,  grasped  tne  bridle  of 
the  young  boy,  and  hastily  directing  aright  the 
course  of  his  own  and  his  less  collected  compan 
ion's  horse,  followed  on  the  hunter's  track. 

Kit  Carson  had  halted,  suddenly,  and  waited 
for  them  to  come  up,  when  he  perceived  their  mis 
taken  course ;  and,  once  more  side  by  side,  the 
three  horsemen  dashed  on,  abreast. 

The  first  faint  glow  that  had  been  perceived 
from  the  direction  of  the  camp  had  now  reddened 
and  deepened  into  a  lurid  glare,  that,  with  each 
instant  increasing,  was  fast  wrapping  the  whole 
horizon  behind  them  in  one  fiery  illumination, 
growing  as  rapidly  higher  and  more  bright,  clear 
er  and  more  distinct. 

'On,  on!'  cried  Carson,  *  the  prairie,  for  miles 
around,  is  fired — on,  on  !  The  fire  will  overtake 
us!' 

Like  madmen  they  rode,  but  his  words  weie 
true.  Fast  fled  their  horse's  feet,  but  faster  fol 
lowed  the  pursuing  flames !  But  still  was  heard 
the  hunter's  encouraging  voice, — 

On,,  on! — we've  a  mile  the  start!' 

At  the  same  mad  rate  sped  they  along,  for  half 
that  distance  further  ;  and  by  that  time  the  sky  in 
their  rear  seemed  to  be  one  sea  of  waving  fire, 
while,  far  in  advance  of  the  burning  prairie- 
scourge,  they  could  hear  the  distant  roar  of  t;he 
flames,  and  feel  the  heated  air  borne  on  by  the 
rushing  wind. 

Ever  directing,  ever  cheering,  every  other  mo 
ment,  was  set  more  loudly  audible  the  hunter's  in 
spiring  voice  ;  as  onward,  with  might  and  main, 
they  urged  their  frightened  ponies,  which  snuffed 
from  afar  '  the  tainted  gale.' 

Suddenly,  and  with  so  abrupt  a  shock  as  to 
shake  even  the  firmly-seated  hunter  in  his  saddle, 
the  full-blooded  pony  which  he  rode  baulked,stood 
still,  inhaled  the  air  ahead,  three  or  four  times, 
then  uttering  a  low  neigh  of  delight,  broke  into  a 
gallop,  and  set  off  in  a  direction  nearly  at  right 
angles  from  its  former  one. 

It  was  in  vain  that  Carson  pulled  at  the  bit — 
the  horse  had  taken  it  between  his  teeth,  and  the 
rider  lost  all  control  of  him. 

The  brow  of  Kit  Carson  darkened  not — not 
even  was  his  determined  lip  compressed ;  but  a 
smile,  a  cool  smile,  everf'showed  itself  about  the 
corners  of  his  mouth ;  yet  he  was  on  the  eve  of 
executing  a  desperate  purpose.  He  saw  that  he 
had  ceased  to  have  longer  any  command  over  the 
animal,  but  he  was  resolved  not  to  leave  his  com 
panions  to  be  thus  separated  from  him  in  their 
een  extremity — and  yet,  how  was  it  possible  for 
him  to  prevent  it. 

He  rose  in  his  stirrups,  he  drew  forth  a  knire — 
a  knife  torn  from  the  belt  of  one  of  the  slain 
savages — he  raised  it  high  above  that  part  of  the 
horse's  arching  neck,  where  flowed  the  life-cur 
rent  of  the  jugular  vein — he  had  determined  on 
killing  the  beast  that  bore  him,  as  the  only  means 
of  stopping  it  in  its  uncontrollable  career. 

Ere  ho  struck  the  blow,  he  turned  his  head  and 


saw,  to  his  great  surprise,  that  the  other  horses 
had  followed  the  example  of  his  own,  and,  with 
their  riders,  were  following  scarce  a  length  behind. 

This  discovery,  of  course,  caused  him  to  aban 
don  the  design,  and  he  c  illed  to  Eugene  and 
Edward  to  give  their  ponies  free  rein,  and  see 
what  would  come  of  it — while  the  two  summoned 
breath  to  demand, — 

'  But  what  is  the  matter  with  the  horse  ? — what 
possesses  them  ?' 

The  hunter's  head  sunk  thoughtfully  on  his 
breast. 

*  I  have  it !  I  have  it !'  he  cried ;  *  it  was  water 
they  scented  just  now.'  • 

'  Water !'  echoed  Lincoln  and  the  lad,  together. 

*  Water !— yes,  water !     We  must  be  in  the   vi 
cinity  of  the  river  again ;  it's   course  is  winding, 
like  a  sarpint's!'  cried  Carson,  excitedly.     'Now 
look'ye,  both!  if  we  can  only  get  to  the  river  afore 
the  fire  overtakes  us,  we  are  safe !' 

Once  more  back  upon  the  fiery  foe  he  sent  his 
keen  eyed  glance.  The  others  turned  too  ;  but 
their  eyes  were  almost  blinded  by  the  bright  and 
dazzling  light.  The  fire  was  now  within  a  quarter 
of  a  'mile  of  them — the  deepening  roar  of  the 
flames  was  like  the  thunder-sound  of  a  waterwall 
— the  atmosphere  was  almost  stifling,  from  the 
fearfully -increased  heat,  and  the  suffocating  smoke 
that  preceded  the  advancing  column,  which  came 
with  frightful  celerity  on,  sweeping  the  tall  grass 
before  it,  as  chaff  before  the  reaper's  scythe. 

Onward,  onward,  rolled  the  mighty  volume,  an 
eighth  of  a  mile  in  thickness  and  a  score  oi  miles 
in  length ;  forward,  forward,  in  a  semi-circle 
stretching  out — while  onward  and  forward,  before 
its  accumulating  terrors,  fled  the  fugitives. 

But  what  was  animal  soeed  or  human  nerve  to 
cope  with  the  burning  element?  Rapidly,  O  how 
rapidly,  diminished  the  distance  that  yet  separated 
them  from  the  fell  destroyer  that  roared,  and  hiss 
ed,  and  crackled  at  their  back  ? 

Lincoln,  himself,  felt  faint  and  giddy,  and  half 
suffocated,  with  his  blinded  vision  scarce  clear 
enough  to  see,  for  an  instant,  the  boy,  reel  more 
than  once  in  his  saddle,  as  if  with  the  same  dead 
ly  faintness,  that,  in  a  loss  degree,  also  affected 
himself. 

Overcome  by  the  dreadful  oppression,  he  was 
about,  helplessly  to  relax  his  hold  of  the  rein  and 
abandon  himself  to  his  fate,  when,  like  an  angel's 
voice  of  mercy,  was  heard  the  cry  from  Carson : 

'The  river!  the  river!  I  see  it!  I  see  it! — 
Yonder! — there!  For  God's  sake  don't  give  up 
up  now!' 

The  words  of  hope  eemed  to  put  renewed 
strength  and  power  of  endurance  into  both — a 
faint  cheer  answered — the  three  rode  on— the 
water,  in  another  instant,  came  into  full  view  ! 

But  the  fire  was  near — O  God  !  how  near !  It 
blistered,  it  burned,  it  scorched  them,  as  it  roared 
along,  not  three  hundred  yards  back.  Behind, 
like  an  ocean  of  molten  gold,  was  the  raging  fire, 
hotter,  fiercer,  greater  than  ten  tho'isand  furnaces 


80 


KIT  CARSON. 


thrown  into  one ;  before,  like  a  sheet  of  melted 
silver,  lay  the  rippling  river  of  the  burning  prairie. 
Ten  rods,  only,  ahead  it  lay — could  they  reach  it  ? 
it  was  but  half  the  distance  the  pitile-s  flames  had 
to  gain,  but  three- fold  greater  was  their  speed! — 
Oh,  but  for  one  moment  of  time  ! 

Hark!  that  terrible  neigh! -the  horses  h;  ve 
seen  the  water,  and  every  nerve  they  strain — fear 
ful  their  speed  !  But  ha !  there  is  a  sudden  splash 
— another — and  yet  a  third.  The  stout  steeds 
have  gained  the  river,  and  leaped  in,  with  their 
riders ! 

'Saved!  saved!  but  into  the  middle — into  the 
middle  of  the  river  all !  or  the  heat  from  the  shore 
will  consume  ye,  like  the  sun-scorched  prairie- 
flower !  Out!  out  into  the  stream!' 

And  scarce  spoken  was  the  warning  when  the 
fire  reached  the  water's  brink. 

There,  recoiling,  gathering  into  one  monstrous 
volume  of  concentrated  sbenglh  and  violence,  it 
seemed  to  rage  in  re-doubled  fury  al  being  so  sud 
denly  stayed  in  its  devastating  course. 

The  heat  from  the  baffled  waves  was  tremen 
dous,  and  fortunate  proved  the  timely  cautiop  of 
Kit  Carson,  for  only  by  pushing  their  panting 
horses  into  the  centre  of  the  stream,  did  they  es 
cape  being  scorched  to  death  ! 

But,  as  through  the  water  horses  and  riders 
struggled,  there  was  a  sudden  shriek  from  the 
river — a  loud  splash,  and  a  terrible  cry  from 
Lincoln, — 

*  The  boy,  Carson  !  the  boy !  he  has  fainted  and 
fallen !' 

And  the  young  man  leaped  from  his  own  horse 
into  the  stream ! 

*  O  God !  my  poor  Edwaid  !  my  boy !  my  boy !' 
groaned  a   voice  of  agony ;  and  the  hunter,  him 
self,  followed  the  generous  Lincoln.    Once,  twice, 
thrice,  did  Carson  dive,  and  as  many  times  rising, 
saw  no  trace  of  either.     Once,  indeed,  he  imagin 
ed  he  heard  a  faint  shout,  and  his  name   hoarsely 
pronounced.     But  the  terrific  blaze   from   the  op 
posite  bank  lighted  up  the  whole  expanse   of  the 
river,  and  threw  every  lathom  of  water  into  bright 
relief,   save   where,  close   in   shore,   its  dazzling 
brilliance  blinded  the  gaze,  still  nothing  of  them 
was  visible. 

The  form  of  the  heroic  hunter  quivered  with  a 
wild  and  fearlul  tremor,  and  a  hollow  moan  of  un 
utterable  misery  broke  from  the  pent-up  fortress 
of  his  breast ;  but  at  the  same  moment  a  cry — 
this  time  plainer,  louder  than  before — reached 
him,  and  from  that  portion  of  the  stream  directly 
under  the  raging  fire,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  daz 
zling  brightness  which  made  the  objects  beneath 
it  totally  invisible. 

This  time  the  hearing  of  the  hunter  could  not 
deceive  him,  and  he  fancied  that,  even  through  the 
blinding  glow,  he  once  or  twice  discerned  the  out 
lines  of  a  human  form.  And  then,  forth  from  the 
prairie  fire's  dazzling  reflection,  forth  from  the 
heated  atmosphere,  now  lost  to  sight,  now  quickly 


re- appearing  upon  the  bright  surface,  issued  a 
struggling  figure. 

Carson  swam  to  meet  it ;  and  not  it  alone,  for  a 
second  and  a  slighter  form  was  it  supporting,  with 
a  desperate  energy. 

The  intrepid  hunier  hastened  to  relieve  the  dar 
ing  Lincoln  of  his  burden, and  together  they  swam 
to  the  other  bank  ;  both  of  them  slowly,  for  Lin 
coln's  strength  was  well  nigh  spent,  and  Carson, 
though  strong  and  vigorous,  was  encumbered  with 
a  living  weight. 

When  both  emerged,  at  last,  from  the  river, 
they  found  their  horses  had  already  clambered  up 
the  beach,  where  they  stood  shaking  and  resting 
themselves  after  their  dreadful  race,  and  gazing 
back  in  mute  wonder  at  the  fiery  danger  they  had 
escaped.  But  little  heed  gave  either  to  the  poo* 
beasts  that  had  served  them  so  well. 

Lincoln,  completely  exhausted,  had  sunk  down 
helplessly  upon  the  ground,  beside  the  motionless 
figure  of  the  youth,  whom  the  sorrowing  hunter 
had  laid  tenderly  on  the  grass  ;  with  a  counte 
nance,  whose  expression  of  keenest  anguish  touch 
ed  the  other  to  the  heart. 

'  He  is  gone !  he  is  gone!'  he  heard  the  gasping 
Carson  falter,  in  a  hollow  tone  and  a  touching  ac 
cent,  wholly  free  from  a  taint  of  the  frontier  dia 
lect  ;  realizing  at  once  his  suspicions,  that  it  was 
ever,  in  a  measure,  assumed  with  him.  *  My  God ! 
he  is  gone,  and  Kit  Carson  is  desolate!  Poor  boy! 
hard — hard  has  been  your  fate,  and  bitter  your 
end  !  Alas!  better  would  it  have  been,  perhaps, 
had  I  never  taken  you  from  the  wild  savages  with 
whom  I  found  you,  a  careless  child — you  might 
have  been  spared  this  untimely  end !' 

'From  the  savages?'  iterated  tho  astonished 
Lincoln 

'  Yes,  stranger,  yes ;  I  found  him,  when  a  beau 
tiful  boy  of  seven,  in  an  incursion  with  my  hunters 
upon  one  of  the  wandering  tribes  of  the  wilder 
ness,'  was  the  mournful  reply.  *I  took  a  fancy  to 
the  boy — he  was  the  only  one  of  them  we  left 
alive — we  had  attacked  them  in  self-defence.' 

'Surely,'  exclaimed  Eugene,  who  had  forgotten 
his  exhaustion  in  his  surprise,  '  surely,  in  this 
handsome  face,  this  fair"  complexion,  and  these 
graceful  limbs,  there  can^e  not  a  trace  of  Indian 
blood.' 

'  Nor  is  there  !  The  boy,  doubtless,  is  a  stolen 
child.  The  Indians  often  conceive  a  fancy  for  the 
beautiful  children  of  the  pale-faces,  as  they  call 
us ;  as  such  thefts  are  nearly  as  common  with 
those  savages  as  with ' 

'  The  Gipsies,  you  would  say — those  of  the  Old 
World?' 

1  Yes,  stranger;  and  the  Indians  are  the  Gipsies 
of  the  prairie.  But  this  was  more  than  ten  years 

years  agoi — and — and Oh,  rny  God  !  how  that 

poor  boy  has  grown  around  my  heart !' 

'And  he,  Edward?  has  he  been  much  with 
you  ?' 

'Always,  stranger,  always — ever  since  that 
time.  He  has  been  my  companion  in  the  fores/ 


KIT  CARSON, 


81 


ind  in  the  prairie,  in  scouting  parlies  rnd  explo 
ring  expeditions  —  in  evory  adventure  he  has 
shared. "  1  have  been  ever  careful  of  him,'  sighed 
the  hunter,  *  and  yet  1  have  sought  to  harden  him 
to  danger  and  to  toil,  to  make  him  brave  and  skill 
ful  in  everything;  but  still,  still-——' 

*  Surely  you  do  not  mean  that  your  pains  have 
been  lost  upon  him  ?     He   is   no   coward,  I    will 
stake   my  life  upon  it,'  interrupted  Lincoln,  very 
eagerly. 

*  Coward  /'  echoed   the   hunter,    fiercely  — but 
controlling  himself:  '  A   friend   of  Kit   Carson  a 
coward  !     Take   care,   sir !  take   care !      I   have 
struck  a  man  dead  at  my  feet  for  as  small  a  word 
as  that.     There!  there!  forgive  me   stranger — I 
was  hasty   and  passionate;  but  Kit  Carson  never 
could    bear   that   word — '  coward.'     No,  no ;  the 
boy's  no  coward,  not  he — I   have  seen   him  fear 
less   as  a  panther,  and  knaw  him   to  be  brave.*-*- 
But,  but  what  I  meant  is  this, — he  never  quails  at 
danger,  h«  is  ever  ready  to  meet  it  as  my    boldest 
hunter,  but  he  is  tender-hearted  as  a  woman  ;  he 
cannot  bear  to  harm   a  human   being.     I've   seen 
him  turn  aside  from  a  writhing   worm,  and   plead 
for  a  wounded  deer !     You  saw,  yourself,  how  re 
lieved  he  seemed  when  I  proved   that   it   was  by 
my  hand,  not  his,  that  the   savage   had  died  who 
sought  my  life  in  the  forest :  it  took  a  heavy  load 
from  his  heart,  that  was  plain.     Stranger,  'tis  this 
Very  inconsistency  which  has  always  so  much  puz 
zled  me !' 

4  Then,  as  he  is  brave,  'tis  a  beautiful  charac 
ter  !'  was  Lincoln's  ready  exclamation ;  '  and  yet, 
tis  the  attribute  less  of  a  man  than  a  woman — I 
like  the  youth  still  the  better  for  it.' 

*  And,  to  tell  the  real  truth,  stranger,  so  do  I.   I 
love  him,  because   in   something   he   is   different 
from  myself.  I  should  lose  all  patience  with  him  at 
times,  when  that  tender  heart   of  his   is  brggiug 
for  mercy  for  every  red  skin  and    wild  beast  that 
crosses  our  path;  but  hark  !  tell    me,  stranger,  is 
that  boy  dead  or  not  ?'  faintly  moaned  the  hunter, 
with  tears  in  his  eyes. 

*  He  is  not !  life  has  not  left  him,'  cried  Eugene, 
as  he  placed  his  hand  upon  the  brow  of  the  sense- 
'ess  youth,  and  then  removed  it  to  the  wrist. 

'I  thought  so,  too,  stranger,  but  didn't  dare  to 
believe  it,  for  feelings  deceived  me.  But,  hark'ye, 
Mr.  Lincoln,  if  that  be  your  name,  you  were 
brought  up,  I  see  plainly,  among  the  town  folks 
who  are  used  to  these  fainting  tits  and  the  like, 
and  know  exactly  how  to  treat  them ;  but  such 
things  are  not  nat'ral  to  Injuns  and  hunters,'  add 
ed  the  frontiersman,  gradually  resuming  the  broad 
border  accent  he  loved  so  well,  nowihat  he  found 
the  danger  at  an  end.  *  They're  onnatral  to  us, 
and  we  don't  know  how  to  doctor  'em ;  but  you, 
stranger,  you're  a  better  hand  at  the  business  than 
Kit  Cars»n.  I  dar'sent  trust  myself  with  sich 
things.' 

Lincoln  smiled  slightly  at  the  honest  hunter's 
speech,  and  acting  upon  the  implied  request,  pro 
ceeded  to  exert  his  best  for  the  boy's  recovery. 


The  gigantic  frontiersman  stood  with  folded 
arms  watching  him  as  he  chafed  the  hands  and 
warmed  the  cheek  and  lips  of  the  lifeless  lad. 

More  than  once  the  hardy  hunter  murmured 
ejaculations  of  approving  delight  as  he  saw  the 
color  stealing  faintly  back  to  the  beautiful  face  of 
the  poor  boy,  and  saw  his  chest  faintly  heave  with 
the  first  soft  drawn  suspirations  of  returning  ani 
mation. 

As  the  hunter  gazed,  a  sound  that  he  did  not  asr 
fully  approve,  caused  him  to  start  suddenly  for 
ward,  and  glancing  out  on  the  green  expanse  ot 
prairie-grass  that  stretched  in  its  pride  from  the 
bank  on  which  they  stood,  so  striking  in  its  con 
trast  to  the  blackened  and  still  flaming  waste  on 
the  opposite  shore, 

Intently,  breathlessly,  he  listened— -it  was  evi 
dent  that  something  was  occurring  to  put  every 
faculty  once  more  on  the  alert. 

But  his  companion,  Lincoln,  pre-engaged,  no 
ticed  not  this  sudden  movement,  continuing  unre 
mittingly  to  chafe  the  young  boy's  cheeks  and 
hands,  and  fast  restoring  animation  ;  his  thoughts 
completely  engrossed  in  the  situation  of  one  for 
whom  he  had  conceived  an  interest,  the  depth  and 
power  of  which  he  found  it  difficult  to  define. 

Just  at  the  moment  he  perceived  the  limbs  of 
the  reviving  youth  quivering  with  the  firs-t  tremu 
lous  emotion,  while  his  breast  now  begun  to  heave 
with  a  labored  and  difficult  breathing,  and  seeking 
to  relieve  him  in  some  degree  by  the  invigorating 
contact  of  the  fresh  air,  Lincoln  gently  proceeded 
to  open  the  graceful  hunting  jacket  worn  by  the 
lad,  and  was  loosening  the  upper  loops  of  the 
garment  when,  as  his  eye  fell  upon  the  partially- 
exposed  bosom  of  the  young  boy,  he  started,  ut 
tered  an  exclamation  of  astonishment  and  doubt, 
and  then  drawing  the  covering  a  little  more  aside, 
he  remained,  as  if  spell-bound,  his  fascinated 
gaze  rivetted  where  it  had  fallen,  his  breath  coming 
short  and  hot  through  his  parted  lips,  his  glance 
still  fixed  and  gloating,  and  his  own  breast  heaving 
as  if  with  inward  fire ! 

The  whole  was  but  momentary  —  an  inward 
struggle  seemed  to  take  place;  and  then,  with  a 
somewhat  abrupt  movement,  he  re-placed  the  folds 
of  (the  boy's  jacket  over  his  exposed  breast  again, 
slowly  ejaculating  as  he  did  so, — 

4  Heavens !  what  a  discovery !  Can  Kit  Carson 
be  ignorant  of  this  T 

But  a  second  exclamation,  full  as  startling,  tho' 
less  mysterious^  was,  almost  the  same  instant, 
given  to  the  air,  1but  this  time  it  was  Carson  that 
spoke, — 

«  To  horse  !  to  horse  Those  incarnate  devila 
have  crossed  the  river  and  fired  the  prairie  on  both 
sides  ! — we  have  not  even  yet  escaped  " 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
The  Fruits  of  the  Fire— The  Ntw  Dangers  in  it* 


KIT  CARSON. 


train— The  monster  Herd  of  Buffaloes  — -  The 
Superhuman  Skill  and  Daring  of  Kit  Carson^ 
A  Fortunate  Rencontre,  and  a  Hatppy  Issue. 

'Ay,  now  I  am  in  Arden;  the  more  fool 

1 ;  when  I  was  at  home  I  was  in  a  better  place ;  but 

Travellers  must  be  content*' 

FROM  security  and  hope  to  danger  and  despair, 
how  awful  is  tlte  revulsion !  Such  was  the  stun 
ning1  transition  which  the  feelings  of  both  Lincoln 
and  Carson  were  doomed  to  undergo,  at  that  ter 
rible  moment  which  had  given  birth  to  a  double 
discovery* 

'Demons  that  they  are — impossible!'  faltered 
the  former,  in  his  consternation. 

The  hunter,  without  a  word,  pointed  to  a  faint 
line  of  light  that  caught  the  eye,  far  distant  on  the 
prairie,  but  directly  ahead  of  their  new  course. 

Like  the  fire  they  had  but  just  escaped,  it  was 
swiftly  coming  down  on  them  in  the  form  of  a 
burning  crescent.  Even  Lincoln's  inexperienced 
eye  told  him  that  they  were  now  between  twojires ! 
he  saw  the  murderous  precaution  taken  by  the 
savages  to  cut  off  all  escape,  and  assure  their 
death — and  he  shuddered. 

"But  horrors,  like  misfortunes,  love  to  accumu 
late — they  did  so  now. 

'Stranger,  this  is  not  all!  See!  see,  away 
yonder,  in  advance  of  the  new  fire,  do<you  see  a 
broad,  black  spot  ?' 

Lincoln's  only  answer  was  a  convulsive  'yes.' 
'  Then  mark  rne,  stranger,  we  are  between  two 
fires,  but  that  is  not  the   worst  of  the   danger. — 
Say,  have  you  the  least  idea  what  that  dark  spot  is?' 
'In  God's  name,  notl!      It  appears   to    be 
moving.' 

'Itw  moving — moving  like  the  wind  !  It  is  a 
herd  of  buffaloes,  driven  before  the  fire!  They 
are  making  for  the  river— for  the  river— do  you 
hear  ?' 

*  And — Carson !  and ' 

'In  fifteen  minutes  from  now,  we  shall  be  tram 
pled  to  death !' 

' In  fifteen  minutes  from  now! — surely  in  that 
time  our  horses  can  bear  us  out  of  their  way  ?' 

'  There  you're  wrong  again,  stranger.  The 
poor  brutes  never'll  carry  us  five  miles  in  one 
quarter  of  an  hour,'  replied  the  hunter,  quietly. 

'  Five  miles ! — what  mean  you  ?  You  speak  in 
riddles.' 

'  Do  I  ?— then  I'll  speak  plainer.  That  drove  of 
bisons  yonder,  yonder,  is  from  four  to  five  miles 
broad,  and  coming  on  at  the  very  top  of  their 
speed.  Don't  look  so  astonished,  for  on  the  honor 
of  Kit  Carson,  it  is  true.  The  prairie-fire  has 
gathered  herd  after  herd  together ;  and  here  the 
scared  beasts  come,  as  fast  as  their  legs  will  carry 
them,  making  right  for  the  water :  for  they  know 
it's  their  only  security.  They'll  bear  us  down  be 
fore  them  like  a  land-slide  in  the  mountains — the 
centre  of  the  herd  will  cross  tne  river  at  this  very 
spot.' 


'  Good  God  !  is  there  no  means  of  escape  ?'  ex 
claimed  Eugene. 

'  Just  stop  a  moment,  stranger,  and  I'll  tell  you* 

And  Lincoln  did  keep  silence  while  he  saw  the 
other  turn  toward  the  opposite  side  of  the  river 
and  mutely  survey  the  shore  from  which  they  had 
so  fortunately  escaped. 

The  brief  time  that  had  elapsed  since  they  last 
looked  thitherward,  had  sufficed  for  the  consuming 
element  to  sweep  that  portion  of  the  prairie  clear 
of  every  blade  of  the  tall  grass  that  had  proudly 
moved  there  a  few  hours  before,  and  the  fire,  hav 
ing  exhausted  its  fuel  in  that  quarter,  had  retired 
rapidly  from  the  river  bank  and  rolled  away  in  the 
distance,  leaving  behind  a  blackened  waste  of 
smoking  stubble,  where  so  lately  all  had  been  a 
sea  of  flame. 

Lincoln  caught  the  hunter's  eye,  and  the  look 
of  Eugene  said,  plain  as  words, — '  Is  there  hope 
in  that  quarter  ? — can  we  not  re-cross  the  river, 
now  that  the  flames  have  retreated  ?' 

Kit  Carson  shook  his  head,  negatively,  answer 
ing,— 

'No  !  we  should  escape  the  fire  from  this  side, 
but  not  the  herd— they  will  cross  all  the  quicker 
for  this.  Nevertheless,  you  shall  yet  be  saved, 
stranger,  or  Kit  Carson  will  die  with  you.  I  have 
not  saved  your  life  so  often,  but  that  I  can  save  it 
again !  Say !  have  you  a  flint  about  you  ?  I 
want  to  strike  a  light.' 

'  Alas,  no  !  the  savages  left  me  nothing.  But, 
perhaps,  in  the  knapsacks  of  the  horses  you  might 
find ' 

'  A  good  thought !  The  Injuns  always  carry 
them  ;  I  might  have  thought  of  that ;  and,  going 
to  the  baskets  which  answered  the  purpose  of 
saddle-bags,  he  found  in  each  of  the  rude  pan 
niers  of  the  stolen  ponies,  the  article  tie  needed. 

One,  howevar,  was  sufficient,  and,  possessing 
himself  of  it,  he  turned  quickly  to 'Lincoln,  saying 
in  his  natural  tone, — 

'  Leave  the  lad  for  a  moment — he  is  fast  reviv 
ing,  I  see — and  come  hither.  Gather  half  a  dozen 
strong  withes  of  grass  and  bind  the  horses'  feet, 
so  they  cannot  move  at  liberty — they  must  be  fet 
tered  ;  quick  !  before  they  take  the  alarm.  Now 
help  me  to  put  up  the  dry  grass  for  a  space  ot 
about  ten  feet  square.  God  grant  you  nimble 
fingers!  Quick,  quick !  make  haste!  and  when 
we've  done,  lead  the  horses  into  the  cleared  space, 
and  gather  them  close  together.  Bring  the  boy 
with  you,  and  place  him  nearest  to  the  river.' 

These  orders  had  been  given  and  executed.with 
the  greatest  rapidity.  They  were  not  accomplish 
ed,  ho weve/,  without  some  loss  of  time,  and  the 
desired  clearing  was  effected,  and  the  whole 
party,  men  and  horses,  were  collected  within. 

The  excitement  incident  on  these  active  prepa 
rations  had  not  allowed  other  sights  and  sounds  to 
distract  their  attention ;  and  when,  after  all,  they 
stopped  to  breathe  and  look  around  once  more, 
though  Carson  retained  his  composure,  the  less 
experienced  Lincoln  could  not  refrain  from  a  cry 


KIT   CARSON, 


of  awe  struck  won.ler  at  what  he  beheld. 

That  which,  so  few  moments  previous,  had  ap 
peared  a  long  black  spot,  had  now  assumed  the 
look  of  a  thunder-cloud,  ten-fold  increased  in  its 
apparent  length  and  magnitude  ;  though  visibly 
advancing  witu  whirlwind  speed,  it  still  seemed 
like  one  solid  mass,  driven  forward  by  some  mys 
terious  impulse. 

1  Five  minutes—- only  five  minutes  more !'  in  a 
suppressed  tone  the  hunter  whispered  in  Lincoln's 
jar. 

The  beating  of  their  hearts  kept  time  with  the 
lapse  of  seconds ! 

At  a  speed  that  seemed  -to  distance  time  itself, 
the  moving  mass  came  on — a  mass  no  longer ;  for 
they  could  clearly  make  out  the  hulky  outlines  of 
the  monstrous  animals,  in  countless  myriads,  and 
distinguish  the  shaggy  head  and  enormous  limbs 
of  the  North  American  bison. 

With  inconceivable  velocity  the  immense  herd 
set  toward  the  river ;  the  ground  shaking  with 
their  tremendous  tramp,  the  air  reverberating  their 
deep-mouthed  bellows:  pressing  close  upon  each 
other  to  the  depth  of  hundreds  upon  hundreds  of 
yards,  and  stretching  out  to  the  right  and  to  the 
left  for  a  league  on  either  hand,  onward  rushing 
like  a  mighty  army  in  retreat ;  headed  by  a  single 
leader,  an  enormous  and  grizzly  bearded  bull,  with 
inflamed  eye-balls,  erected  mane,  and  hurricane 
of  hair. 

'  O  God  of  Heaven  !  another  moment  and  we 
shall  be  trodden  under  foot — ground  to  powder  be 
neath  the  countless  monsters'  hoots— Carson,  we 
are  lost !  There  are  tens  of  thousands  of  them  !' 

'  Hist !'  cried  the  hunter,  calm  and  cool  as  an 
ice-^ound  stream.  He  stept  to  the  front  of  the 
little  clearing,  he  struck  the  flint-stone,  the  tinder 
ignited  instantly — he  cast  it  down  on  the  edge  of 
the  grass. 

Immediately  the  crackling  of  flames  made  itself 
heard,  and  simultaneously  a  bright  blaze  leaped 
up  and  spread  along  the  unplucked  grass  beyond, 
and  sprang  as  if  to  meet  the  hurrying  herd  in 
their  headlong  approach,  with  the  shock  of  which 
the  earth  seemed  to  tremble  to  its  centre,  the  rush- 
ing-in  air  nearly  taking  away  their  breath — when, 
just  as  Lincoln,  surrendering  all  hope,  saw  the 
whirlwind  of  branching  horns  levelled  at  the  de 
voted  spot,  the  whole  mighty  mass  about  to  crush 
them  under  foot,  the  leader  of  the  drove  was  sud 
denly  seen  to  halt  abruptly,  swerve  from  the  kin 
dling  wrath  of  flame  that  met  him  in  his  course, 
and  dart,  with  a  strange  bellow,  on  one  side. 

That,  bellow  seemed  to  be  a  signal  that  all  re 
cognized,  with  the  wonderful  sagacity  for  which 
the  American  bison  is  distinguished  :  for,  dividing 
right  and  left  on  either  hand,  the  herd  of  buffaloes 
swayed  aside  from  the  fire  that  crossed  their  path, 
one  wing  following  their  leader,  the  other  taking 
the  corresponding  course  on  their  own  side,  leav 
ing  an  open  centre  of  more  than  a  hundred  yards 
square,  in  which  the  perilled  little  group  stood  now 
unharmed ! 


The  vacuum  left  in  the  cloven  atmosphere,  and 
the  returning  concussion  of  the  closing  air,  over 
threw  both  the  hunter  and  his  friend,  but  when 
they  quickly  regained  their  feet,  they  were  for  a 
moment  completely  stunned  by  the  cataract-like 
roar  of  the  boiling  waters  behind,  amid  which  the 
whole  herd  were  laboring  and  floundering,  snort 
ing  witli  terror,  those  from  behind  pressing  on 
those  before,  and  trampling  and  suffocating  each 
other  in  their  furious  haste ;  so  that  not  more  than 
two  thirds  of  the  numberless  host  of  the  kingly 
buffaloes  reached  the  opposite  bank  alive! 

Meanwhile,  the  third  fire  that  had  thus  been  the 
fortunate  means  of  frightening  the  herd  from  their 
course,  had  rolled  on,  gradually  gaining  strength, 
until  met  by  the  mightier  volume  before  which  the 
terrified  bisons  had  fled* 

The  forethought  of  the  hunter  had  combined  a 
double  purpose,  and  the  two  fires  meeting  fought 
each  other;  but  though  the  larger  body  conquered, 
it  found  no  food  for  its  wrath  where  the  lesser 
scourge  had  passed  before  it,  and  it,  like  the  orig 
inal  conflagration. on  the  opposite  shore  of  the  river, 
died  away,  at  last,  for  the  want  of  further  fuel  to 
to  its  fury.  » 

His  own  peculiar  smile  upon  his  resolute  lip, 
Kit  Carson  turned  and  looked  his  companion  full 
in  the  face. 

'  What  do  you  think  of  that,  stranger  ?— That's 
what  we  call  '  killing  two  birds  with  one  stone ' 
— fire  to  fight  fire,  and  drive  back  the  buffaloes, 
both.' 

'  Man  of  exhaustless  expedients  and  indomita 
ble  courage,'  agitatedly  uttered  Lincoln,  grasping 
the  hunter's  hand  and  pressing  it  to  his  lips ;  '  no 
hero  in  battle  ever  surpassed  such  feats  of  match 
less  daring!  Again  I  owe  you  iny  life.' 

'  Stranger,  Kit  Carson  likes  actions  better  than 
words !  You  saved  that  poor  boy's  life  there, 
where  many  a  stout  hunter  would  not  have  dared 
to  go ;  and  I've  not  forgotten  that  you  put  a  bullet 
into  the  shoulder  of  that  rascally  red-skin  who 
thought  to  catch  me  napping.  I  want  no  better 
thanks  than  those !  But  all  danger's  over  now, 
and  so  let's  be  moving  once  more  again,  stranger. 
These  two  fires  have  swept  the  prairie  clean  of 
every  blade  of  grass  an  inch  high,  for  twenty 
miles  around  on  each  side  of  the  river.  I'll  untie 
the  horses,  and  if  Edward,  poor  fellow,  is  able  to 
be  moved,  the  quicker  we're  off  the  better.' 

*  Edward !'  repeated  Eugene ;  *  is  he  then  una 
ware ' 

He  checked  himself  and  said  aloud, — '  I  thought 
he  had  nearly  revived  at  one  time,  but  probably 
the  shock  of  finding  us  about  to  be  trampled  to 
death  by  those  dreadful  beasts  may  have  unstrung, 
afresh,  his  weakened  nerves — perhaps  have  caused 
him  to  s*  oon  again.' 

Such  proved  to  be  the  case.  The  boy,  who  had 
fainted,  was  lifted  in  the  strong  arms  of  Carson 
and  tenderly  placed  upon  one  of  the  horses,  and 
arose  the  question,  how,  in  his  present  helpless 
condition,  they  were  to  dispose  of  him. 


84 


KIT  CARSON, 


"I  wtll  carry  him ;  my  horse  is  strong,  and  I 
Will  carry  him  before  me!'  exclaimed  Lincoln, 
eagerly. 

'  Very  well,  stranger  ;  but  be  careful  of  the  poor 
boy.  'Twill  be  better  so,  perhaps,  for  some  o' 
those  red  devils  might  be  prowling  around,  now 
fhat  the  fire  they  kindled  for  us  is  over,  in  search 
of  our  bones,  as  like  as  not,  and  1  had  best  be  on 
•the  look-out  for  a  time  at  least.' 

And  mounting  their  respective" horses,  with  the 
young  boy  on  the  saddle  before  him,  and  tied  by 
the  hunter's  sash  to  his  waist,  Lincoln  with  his 
gallant  companion  and  preserver  once  more  set 
forward. 

The  delight  of  Eugene  was  scarcely  to  be  mod 
erated,  as  now  he  found  life  and  liberty  thus  un 
expectedly,  and  after  so  many  hazards,  restored 
to  him. 

Occupied  in  their  own  reveries,  they  rode  on  at 
a  rapid  rate,  in  silence,  for  some  time ;  but  at  last 
the  hunter,  glancing  at  Lincoln  and  his  charge-*— 
who  was  beginning  to  discover  signs  of  recovery 
once  more, — he  abruptly  asked*— 

*  Stranger,  how  did  you  manage  to  secure  the 
poor  boy  as  you  did,  and  when  the  water  had  car 
ried  him  under  the  burning  grass  ?— it  was  a  bold 
thing !' 

'A  mere  nothing.  I  found  the  current  had  swept 
the  poor  child  thither,  and  I  swam  as  near  as  pos 
sible  and  dived  for  him.  I  grappled  the  body  and 
rose  with  it,  but  the  heat  was  so  intolerable  I  could 
scarcely  breathe,  and  again  dived  and  swam  un 
der  water  out  of  reach.  He  must  have  fainted 
and  fdlen  from  his  horse,  from  sheer  exhaustion 
when  we  gained  the  river.' 

'Still  it  was  a  daring  thing  in  you,  stranger,  to 
snatch  him  from  death,  right  in" the  jaws  of  that 
cursed  lire— a  daring  thing,  and  it's  Kit  Carson 
who  says  so,  and  he  ought  to  know  ;  enough !  it's 
made  me  your  friend  forever !' 

4  Carson !  dearest  Carson !' — a  faint  voice  said. 

'Edward — my  boy !'  and  the  hardy  hunter  drew 
his  own  horse  closer  up,  that  he  might  press  a 
kiss  upon  the  lips  of  his  protege. 

A  faint  flush  flitted  across  the  cheek  of  the 
youth,  as  he  murmured, — 

'  Oh,  Carson,  what  a  wild  dream  I  have  had  !  I 
dreamed  of  perishing  by  the  prairie-fire,  of  being 
drowned,  and  of  being  trodden  to  death  by  buffa 
loes  !' 

'  And  narrowly,  said  Eugene,  fervently,  '  have 
you  escaped  them  all.' 

The  boy  started  and  looked  up  at  him,  seeming 
ly  bewildered  at  the  position  in  which  he  found 
himself,  while  his  benefactor  interposed, — • 

'Thank  the  stranger,  Edward;  thank  him.  He 
saved  you  from  drowning,  as  you  dreamed,  in  the 
river — he  nearly  lost  his  own  life  in  looking  after 
yours !  God  bless  him !  he's  a  man,  every  inch  of 
him.' 

'Did  he?  O  did  he!'  exclaimed  the  youth, 
speaking  in  the  rich,  melod:'ous  tones  Lincoln  had 
so  often  remarked ;  *  then  I  will  love  him  dearly  !' 


And  the  beautiful  boy  gazed  up  in  Lincoln's 
face  with  such  a  soul-s  caking  expression  of  for 
vent  gratitude,  that,  while  it  exerted  a  stranger  in 
fluence  upon  him  than  the  bold  Carson  knew, 
caused  the  hunter  himself  to  repeat,— 

'  That  look  tells  me,  stranger,  that  he  will  love 
you;  and  with  his  whole  heart  and  soul.  lam 
glad  the  boy  has  taken  such  a  liking  to  you,  though 
it's  rather  strange  in  him,  Mr.  Lincoln  ;  he's°a 
shy  lad  and  a  bashful  one,  and  he  never  seems  to 
like  to  be  away  from  me,  or  to  associate  with  my 
good  hunters  in  the  camp,  said  Carson,  once 
more  forgetting  his  habitual  mode  of  speech  in 
the  interest  of  his  thoughts  ;  "while,  as  he  spoke, 
the  handsome  cheek  of  the  boy  crimsoned,  and  he 
held  down  his  head. 

As  he  heard  the  one  and  marked  the  other,  Lin* 
coin  muttered  to  himself,— '•lean  gue$8  the  reason 
now !' 

But  the  boy  had  twice  fainted,  and  was  yet 
very  weak,  too  weak  to- speak  much,  and  Lincoln, 
joining  with  Carson,  earnestly  besought  him  not 
to  attempt  it ;  and  with  such  evident  interest,  that 
he  seemed  at  once  drawn  to  him,  and  sinking  back 
on  his  supporting  arm,  gazed,  trustingly,  up  in  his 
countenance  and  continued  to  sit  thus,  confidingly 
looking  from  Eugene  to  the  hunter,  as  if  the  youth 
felt  that  he  had  found  a  new  and  faithful  friend  in 
his  supporter. 

Sleep  and  fatigue,  however,  soon  overpowered 
him,  and  he  slumbered  soundly  on  the  horse's 
saddle,  with  Lincoln's  sustaining  arm  passed 
round  his  waist,  his  breast  pillowing  his  youthful 
head,  while  the  merchant's  clerk  looked  thought 
fully  down  on  the  ingenuous  and  beautiful  coun 
tenance  of  the  prairie-boy ! 

They  had  ridden,  in  silence,  several' miles,  Car 
son  and  his  companion,  when  suddenly  'the  hunter 
rose  in  his  stirrups  and  uttered  a  shrill  whistle. 

The  signal,  if  signal  it  was,  was  answered  al 
most  instantly,  seemingly  from  many  voices,  the 
air  bore  back  the  echo  of  horse's  feet,  and  the 
next  moment  a  troop  of  twenty  or  thirty  men  on 
horseback  galloped  up  Avith  loud  shouts. 

;Ha!  my  brave  hunters!  do  we  meet  »* gain?' 

'Is  it  you,  Captain  Carson  ?  then  we're  not  too 
late.  We  were  out  in  search  of  those  cussed 
red-skins,  but  we  saw  the  prairie  afire,  and  thought 
the  Pawnees  might  have  been  burning  the  camT). 
We  had  to  ford  the  river  ourselves,  to  get  out  o' 
the  way  of  the  fiie ;  but  we  didn't  care  for  that.— - 
We  were  determined  to  find  out  what  had  become 
of  our  Kit  Carson.' 

'  Hurrah  for  Kit  Carson — our  Kit  Carson !'  echo 
ed  on  every  side  from  the  gallant  hunters,  as  they 
clustered  around  their  idolized  leader. 

'Thank  you,  my  fine  fellows,'  replied  the  chief; 
'  and  now  get  ready  for  an  immediate  start.' 

'  In  pursuit  of  the  Pawness  ?  in  pursuit  of  the 
red-skins?'  asked  twenty-eager  voices;  but  ere 
he  could  make  any  rejoinder,  Eugene  Lincoln 
guided  his  pony  to  the  hunter-chief's  side,  and 
with  some  agitation  said, — 


KIT  CARSON. 


85 


*  Carson,  my  friend — if  so  I  may  call  you,  I  have 
one  request,  to  make — is  it  asking  too  much  to  ask 
you  to  grant  it  ?' 

'  Out  with  it,  stranger,'  said  the  other;  'I  will 
not  deny  it.' 

'  'Tis  this,  then :  when  you  found  me  flying  from 
the  Pawnees,  I  had  lost  my  way  in  the  wilderness 
— wandered  for  days  and  discovered  that  I  had 
gone  back,  instead  of  advancing.  I  know  not 
these  trackless  wilds ;  and  if  we  separate,  1  may 
perish  like  a  dog  in  the  wilderness.  Say !  is  it 
requesting  too  much  of  your  goodness  when  I  ask 
if  you,  who  know  every  prairie  path  and  forest 
trail,  will  not  be  my  guide  to  ^tliat  destination  I 
should  a  week  since  have  reached,  and  where, 
once  gained,  1  fondly  hoped  that  wealth  and  for 
tune but  you  smile— you  will  not  then  guide 

me  to— to ' 

'To  the  gold  mountains— to  the  mines?  Is  it 
not  so  ?' 

4  It  is— it  is !     I  am— 
'  A  California  Adventurer !' 
'  Yes.' 

'  I  suspected  so,  stranger,  all  the  while.     What 
else  should  bring  such  as  you  to  the  wilderness !' 
'You   will   not  refuse  me,  then ?'    eagerly  im 
plored  Lincoln. 

'  Refuse  you  !  Set  your  mind  easy  on  that  score, 
stranger.  You  shall  be  in  the  mines  in  four  days' 
time*  My  brave  hunters  and  1  are  bound  for  the 
gold  mines,  ourselves  ;  we  know  a  shorter  path, 
and  we  know  a  richer  harvest  ground.  We  will 
lead  you  where  you  shall  find  the  precious  metal 
you  seek,  in  glittering  lumps,  not  delve  and  dig  in 
the  valleys  for  paltry  gold  dust !  Come  with  us, 
come,  stranger,  you  shall  never  regret  the  day  that 
you  lost  }  our  way  in  the  prairie,  and  made  the 
Prince  of  the  Gold  Hunters  your  friend  ! 

'  Forward  !  my  men,  forward  !  for  the  mountains 
above  the  mines!  Forward,  for  the  Sierra 
Nueva  !' 

And  th^  chief  of  the  treasure-seekers  waved 
his  hand  proudly  to  his  men,  as  he  pointed  to  the 
breaking  day  light  in  the  east,  and  then  turned  his 
finger  in  the  direction  of  the  western  sky. 

Each  man  of  the  gallant  troop  understood  the 
signal ;  each  man  knew  that  that  night's  mighty 
conflagration  had  swept  every  trace  of  their  late 
encampment  from  the  prairie,  and  that  westward, 
to  the  broad  Pacific,  their  course  now  lay ;  and  as 
that  picturesque  cavalcade  of  the  wilderness  dashed 
on,  the  bold  borderers,  ever  and  anon,  as  they 
thought  of  their  golden  destination,  would  break 
forth  into  the  enthusiastic  cry,  so  familiar  amid  the 
treasure  teeming  hills  of  California, — 

'Hurrah!  hurrah  for  Kit  Carson,  the  Prince  of 
ihe  Gold  Hunters !  Hurrah  !' 


CHAPTER  XX. 
Golden  Paradise.— The   Prince  of  ike   Gold 


lunters  in  the  Treasure  Cave. — the  Confession 
of  poor  Harry1!!  Fate.— Jl  sudden  re-appear 
ance. 

ANOTHER,  still  another  arrival !  was  the  simul 
taneous  cry  of  the  thousands  of  busy,  toiling,  un- 
shaved  Gold-Washers,  on  the  banks  of  the  Sacra 
mento,  some  five  days  later  than  the  events 
narrated  in  the  preceding  chapter. 

But,  as  a  troop  of  some  twenty  stalwart  horse 
men  rode  in  among  them,  then  were  many  of  the 
same  voices  that  exclaimed, — 

'  No !  no !  it  is  Kit  Carson  and  his  hunters,  re 
turned  again  to  the  mines !  Hurrah,  boys  !  hurrah1, 
but  for  him  and  old  Captain  Sutter, — [of  Sutler's- 
Fort,  the  co-discoverer,  with  Carson,  of  the  golden 
secrets  of  California] — we  should  not  now  be  dig 
ging  gold  here.— Long  life  to  Kit  Carson  !— thank 
him,  lads,  we  owe  our  good  luck  to  him  !' 

Such  were  the  welcome  cries  that  saluted  fhe 
Hero  of  the  Gold  Regions,  as  one  after  another, 
scores  of  the  treasure  searchers  left  their  alluring 
occupations,  to  crowd  around  the  man  to  whose 
daring  enterprise  and  intrepid  explorations  the 
world,  at  this  moment,  owes,  in  part,  the  unveiling 
of  the  most  prolific  source  of  mineral  wealth  that 
ever  astonished  mankind  since  the  Creation  ! 

But  Carson  himself  did  not  pause  long  to  re 
ceive  their  eager  greetings,  nor  did  the  troop  come 
to  a  halt,  but  soon  pressed  forward  as  before ;  for 
each  man  had  his  orders,  and  the  chief  himself 
whispered  warhingly  in  the  ears  of  Lincoln  and 
the  now  wholly  restored  Edward,  as  he  rode  by 
their  horses'  side, — 

'  Beware!  do  not  let  those  good  people  yonder 
once  suspect  that  in  the  mountains,  not  in  the  val 
ley,  we  mean  to  reap  our  golden  harvest.  They 
must  not  think  but  that  we  are  riding  on  in  search 
of  an  unoccupied  spot  to  commence  operations  in 
the  same  manner  as  themselves.  If  they  have  so 
much  as  the  merest  hint  that  our  route  lays  farther 
yet,  and  to  a  region,  richer  than  is  known  to  them, 
they  will  leave  their  gold-washing  and  follow  us, 
like  so  many  hungry  wolves,— for  they  know  that 
if  any  man  living  is  likely  to  possess  such  a  know 
ledge,  it  is  I.  Breathe  not  a  word,  then,  but  for 
ward,  quietly,  to  the  Sierra  Nueva— 'tis  but  a  short 
mile  distant,  and  once  reached,  gold,  in  incredible 
quantities,  we  are  certain  to  find  there!  For 
months  1  have  kept  it  a  secret — as  secret  as  the 
grave !  Forward,  forward  !' 

And  forward,  mindful  of  the  warning,  pressed 
the  troop,  bent  on  escaping  the  shadow  of  suspi 
cion  of  their  true  purpose  !  But  the  precaution, 
though  not  in  vain,  was  not  wholly  successful 

As  the  cavalcade  clattered  on,  one  of  the  few 
gold  washers  who  had  not  left  his  work  at  the  sig 
nal  of  Kit  Carson's  return,  now  hobbled  slowly 
forth  from  the  stream  in  which  he  had  stood  up  to 
his  ankle  ;  and  hasti'y,  loading  himself  with  the 
glittering  dust  and  golden  scales  which  he  had 
accumulated,  in  a  small  but  invaluable  pile,  from 
the  washing  of  the  sand,  he  took  his  way  with  a 


86 


KIT  CARSON. 


halting  gait  and  a  painful  step,  a  short  distance 
farther  down  the  Sccramento. 

Stopping,  at  length,  by  the  side  of  a  tall,  dark 
man,  in  a  Spanish  sombrero,  who  was  bending  in 
a  crouching  posture,  sifting  a  quantity  of  shining 
particles  in  a  small  sieve,  which  he  handled  with 
the  greatest  dexterity.  The  latter  looked  up,  at 
the  approach  of  the  other* 

Ere  he  could  speak,  the  mumbling  voice  char 
acteristic  of  old  age  was  heard  eagerly  ejaculating 
the  words,-*- 

'  Is  it  you,  Carl  ?    I  came  expressly  for  you !' 

'  Si,  Senor  Americano  ;  and  what  may  you  want 
now,  asked  the  deep  voice  of  our  quondam  ac 
quaintance,  the  postillion. 

'  Tell  me,  was  not  that  troop  of  men  whr  just 
passed  by,  the  fafaous  Kit  Carson  and  his  men  ?' 
tremulously  demanded  the  old  miser,  in  broken 
tones — for  it  was  John  Vernon,  the  monomaniac. 

'Yes,  yes,  Senor;  answered  the  Californian, 
impatiently ;  '  but  why  do  you  come  to  hinder  me, 
old  man  ?  I  have  near  a  hundred  dollars  worth  of 
dust,  gathered  in  this  spot.  By  San  Pablo,  Senor, 
let  me  finish  my  day's  work !'. 

'  Hush  !    hush sh !'    whispered    the  miser, 

scarce  above  his  breath.  '  Don't  you  see — don't 
you  suspect?  Kit — Kit  Carson — 'twas  he  thart 
first  discovered  the  gold,  was't  not?—  He  must 
know  where  'tis  plentiest — plentiest,  do  you  hear, 
and  most  abundant  ?  See !  his  men  do  not  stop  in 
the  valley — look !  look  !  they  are  getting  out  of 
sight  as  fast  as  they  can—  they  mean  to  give  us  in 
the  valley  the  slip  !  They  don't  stop  to  wash  the 
gold  dust  in  streams — not  they.  Carl,  Carl !'  cried 
the  miser,  with  headlong  avidity,  '  get  me  a — a 
horse — a  horse,  good  fellow,  and  we'll  follow  them, 
Carl  r 

The  Californian  started,  and  his  black  eyes 
sparkled  almost  as  eagerly  as  the  miser's.  With 
an  approving  look  he  struck  his  hand  upon  his 
powerful  thigh,  exclaiming,  with  a  Spaniard's  fire : 

'Bueno!  bueno!  good,  Senor,  good !'  while  he 
muttered  in  his  own  language, — '  Santa  Maria ! 
the  old  man  is  the  devil  himself  for  cunning  ! — 
Demonio !  Carl  Lopez  thought  himself  something 
of  a  fox :  but,  by  my  patron  saint !  I'm  fairly  out 
witted  this  time.  Yes,  I'll ' 

But  the  raiser's  voice  cut  him  short,  calling  ner 
vously, — 

'  Quick !  quick !  get  the  horses ;  you  shall  share 
with  rne — that  was  the  agreement.  But  make 
more  haste,  you  sluggard !  or  the  men  will  be  out 
of  sight,  and  we  shall  lose  them  in  the  mountains.' 

The  Californian  used  all  possible  diligence,  and 
in  ten  minutes,  two  horses  were  in  readiness — 
stolen,  as  Carl  well  knew,  for  the  purpose. 

Having  been  assisted  to  mount,  with  the  pre 
cious  fruits  of  several  days'  gold  washing  in  his 
saddle-bags,  the  old  man  and  his  guide  set  forward 
at  a  brisk  pace,  from  the  mining  ground,  not  a  lit 
tle  to  the  surprise  of  Ve^non's  fellow-passengers 

in  the  ship   S ,  but  entirely  unnoticed  by  the 

great  body  of  the  absorbed  Gold  Diggers. 


But  here  we  must  leave  them,  to  return  once 
more  to  Kit  Carson  and  his  men. 

The  latter,  all  unconscious  that  their  motive  had 
been  suspected,  and  their  movements  dogged,  had 
meanwhile  pursued  their  way,  breaking  into  a  sharp 
canter  as  soon  as  mountain  passes  hid  them  from 
the  observation  of  the  unsuspicious  gold  washers 
in  the  valley. 

1  Halt !'  cried  a  voice  of  command,  as  they  drew 
up  in  a  dark  defile  of  the  pass,  at  the  base  of  a 
mighty  mountain  which  towered  more  than  a 
thousand  feet  above  their  heads,  grand  and  magni 
ficent,  covered  with  smiling  green  verdure  at  its 
foot,  but  its  summit  capped  with  eternal  snows : 
'Leave  the  horses  here — tether  them;  and  be 
ready  all  to  climb  the  mountain!  Quick!  let 
there  be  no  delay  now.' 

All  understood  him,  and  all,  with  alacrity,  com 
plied.  In  a  remarkably  short  time  the  whole  par 
ty  were  on  foot,  and  slowly  ascending  the  moun 
tain  ;  a  work  of  even  more  labor  than  any,  save 
Carson  himself,  had  at  first  anticipated. 

As  they  proceeded,  the  atmosphere  began  to 
grow  cooler  and  cooler;  but  when  about  half  of 
the  immense  ascent  had  been  gained,  and  the 
character  of  the  ground  commenced  to  change, 
from  a  soft  grassy  loam  to  a  stony  soil,  and  from 
that  gradually  breaking  into  yawning  clefts  and 
chasms,  and  jagged  fragments  of  rocks,  which 
seemed  by  some  convulsion  of  nature  to  have 
been  hewn  from  their  places  and  piled  promis 
cuously  together,  then  it  was  that  Carson,  the 
foremost  climber,  paused,  finally ;  and  while  he 
pointed  to  the  mountain  peak  more  than  five  hun 
dred  feet  above  thoir  heads,  he  said,  in  the  hear 
ing  of  every  man,  and  in  the  remarkably  well- 
chosen  language  he  could,  when  it  pleased  him, 
assume, — 

*  We  stand  upon  the  Sierra  Nucva,  the  highest 
mountain,  save  one,  in  California,  and  the  richest 
in  mineral  wealth  on  the  face  of  the  globe.  It  is 
a  slumbering  volcano,  and  these  pits-  and  chasms 
you  see  on  every  hand  are  the  signs  of  long-past 
convulsions,  that  have  opened  the  seams  of  the 
mountain  and  sent  a  hundred  subterraneans  to  the 
lowlands.  It  is  these  same  mountain-torrents 
which  bear  along  with  them  to  the  valley  of  the 
Sacramento,  the  loose  ore  and  golden  dust,  that 
serve  to  show  the  boundless  richness  of  the 
scource  from  whence  they  come.  We  literally 
stand  upon  a  mountain  of  gold  !  there  is  an  inex 
haustible  mine  in  its  heart,  and  if  you  would  satis 
fy  yourselves,  see  with  your  own  eyes  its  wonders, 
scatter  yourselves  over  the  mountain,  my  men,  and 
Kit  Carson's  word  for  it,  you  will  scarcely  find  a, 
hollow  or  cranny  in  the  rocks  in  which  gold  does!  . 
not  lie — gold,  not  in  small  scales  and  paltry  wash 
ings,  but  in  solid  masses !  /  have  explored  this 
mountain  from  top  to  bottom,  every  rod  of  it,  and  I 
know  what  I  say  to  be  true  /' 

The  men  needed  no  second  urging — they  knew 
they  could  rely  upon  his  words,  and  bounding 
with  fleet  footsteps  farther  and  farther  up  the  stn- 


KIT  CARSON. 


87 


pendous  ascent,  they  scattered  in  every  direction 
among  the  cleft  and  shattered  rocks,  in  eager  ex 
ploration  of  their  hidden  recesses. 

*  Come !'  whispered  Carson ;  4  hither,  come, 
stranger.  I  will  show  you  lhat  the  boundless 
wealth  of  California  has  not  been  in  the  least  ex 
aggerated.' 

And  as  the  speaker  led  the  way,  followed  close- 
.yby  Eugnne  and  Edward,  bounding  up  the  ac- 
slivity  he  sprang  at  once  among  the  explorers  of 
the  rocks. 

4  See !  see !'  he  cried,  '  what  might  be  had  in 
the  mountains ;  while  fools  dig  in  the  valleys  and 
wash  in  the  streams  below !' 

Scarcely  could  Lincoln  credit  his  eyes  at  what 
there  met  his  gaze  :  as  he  passed  along  before  the 
operators.  With  only  the  help  of  their  sharp 
hunting-knives,  the  men  were  at  work,  excavating 
from  every  cleft  and  cavity  the  most  precious  of 
all  metals,  in  layers  of  from  two  or  three  to  a  dozen 
ounces,  on  an  average — literally  scraping  cakes  of 
gold  from  the  crevices  of  the  rocks,  frequently  a 
pound  or  more  in  weight;  where,  in  each  hollow 
place,  the  world-worshipped  ore  seemed,  in  a  fluid 
state,  to  have  been  deposited ;  as  if  left  there  by 
Nature's  hand  to  harden,  and  in  Nature's  own 
mould  become  once  more  a  sold. 

It  was  no  longer  the  glittering  dust  of  the  gold- 
washers,  no  longer  the  minute  particles  separated 
from  pebbles  and  sand  ;  it  was  now  the  pure  gold, 
in  solid  lumps!  and,  carried  away  by  the  excite 
ment  of  the  bewildering  spectacle,  Lincoln  could 
restrain  himself  no  longer ;  but  echoing  the  cries 
of  wild  delight  which  the  mountain  cliffs  and 
caverns  prolonged,  in  thunder-like  reverberations, 
knife  in  hand  he  leaped  into  the  very  midst  of  the 

fclc.  gatherers,  and  bent  him  to  his  task !  In  a 
elight  he  plied  his  keen  blade,  rapidly  dislodging 
lump  after  lump  of  the  dearly-prized  mineral,  and 
stripping  cavity  after  cavity  of  their  precious  de- 
posite,  until,  ere  he  was  well  aware,  h%had  al 
ready  accumulated  several  pounds  of  the  dazzling 
metal  for  which,  with  such  trembling  eagerness, 
he  sought. 

In  such  soul-absorbing  occupation,  it  seemed  to 
him  that  he  could  never  tire  or  grow  weary;  so 
engrossed,  indeed,  was  he,  that,  forgetful  of  all 
else,  he  did  not  take  notice  that  another  digger 
was  working  close  to  him,  and  it  was  sometime  ere 
he  looked  up  and  found  the  boy,  Edward,  employ 
ed  almost  at  arm's  length  from  him. 

Lincoln  started  anu  colored  slightly ;  perhaps 
from  confusion  at  having  so  completely  lost  him 
self  in  his  tempting  occupation  ;  perhaps  from 
some  other  feeling  mingled  with  it. 

The  youth,  now  seeing  that  he  was  observed, 
instantly  said: 

4  Let  me  work  with  you,  sir — let  me  work  for 
you.  Here  !  let  me  add  my  store  to  yours — nay, 
do  not  deny  me !  what  need  have  I  of  gold  ?  I 
can  gather  it  at  any  time  ;  but  you  have  come  all 
the  way  from  the  far  Atlantic  in  search  of  it.  O 
then,  let  me  give  it  to  you  !'  urged  the  boy, 


earnestly  ;  *  indeed,  I  need  it  not!' 

Before  Eugene  Lincoln  could  remonstratr 
against  such  generosity,  Kit  Carson  was  by  their 
side,  saying: 

'  Leave  this  spot,  stranger,  and  you,  too,  Edward, 
and  come  with  me  both.  Never  fear,  man,  no; 
look  so  wistfully  around  you,  you  shall  lose  no 
thing—you  shall  gain  by  the  exchange.  But  brinjr 
your  gold  with  you — you  haven't  been  idle,  1  see. 
And  now  to  the  cave — to  the  cave !' 

Hard  as  it  was  to  tear  himself  away  from  th<^ 
bewildering  allurements  of  that  scene,  Lincoln's 
reliance  upon  his  hunter-friend  was  too  implicit  in 
admit  of  a  question ;  and  securing  the  golden  evi 
dences  of  his  success  about  his  person,  he  hesitat 
ed  not  to  follow  the  bold  frontiersman,  who  re 
commenced  ascending  the  mountain  to  a  still 
greater  height;  though  it  might  have  been  re 
marked,  that  during  nearly  the  whole  of  the  time 
it  occupied,  the  eyes  of  Eugene  seemed  to  fix 
themselves,  as  if  by  some  irresistible  fascination, 
upon  the  beautiful  features  of  the  boy  who  hurried 
on,  with  a  graceful  step,  by  his  side,  while  th  • 
latter  more  than  once  lifted  his  eyes,  as  if  con 
scious  of  the  scrutiny  of  which  he  was  the  object. 

A  hundred  feet  higher  up  the  acclivity,  they 
came  to  the  mouth  of  a  chasm  that  seemed  to  hav. 
been  hollowed,  by  some  natural  convulsion,  fro;;^ 
the  mountain's  side. 

Carson  bade  Lincoln  to  enter,  adding  as  he  di-l 
so,— 

'Now,  indeed,  I  will  show  you  more  than  y<vr- 
wildest  dreams  have  dared  to,  conceive,  of  th >? 
wonders  of  California!  Now  I  will  show  yos, 
that,  too,  in  comparison  with  which  all  you  hav. 
yet  seen  sinks  into  insignificance.  Get  in!  £«.•* 
in  !  this  is  the  gold  cave,  stranger  !' 

Once  within  the  cavern,- a  vision  of  dazzli;^ 
splendor  burst  on  the  astonished  young  man  thai 
nearly  took  away  his  breath,  in  the  first  violence 
of  bewildering  surprise.  At  his  feet,  heaped  ur 
against  the  rocky  walls,  in  piles  upon  the  stony 
floor,  lay  the  magic  metal,  in  quantities  immenet, 
in  value  inestimable. 

Lincoln  saw,  half-incredulously,  and  then  tarr 
ed  upon  his  conductor  a  look  of  wondering  i:,- 
quiry. 

Carson  marked  it,  and  at  once  rejoined, — 

4  You  hardly  seem  to  know,  stranger,  if  you  nr':- 
in  a  dream  or  not!  If  you  dare  not  believe  you: 
own  eyes,  touch  the  metal  and  be  convinced. — 
Doubt  it  who  will,  here  at  your  feet  is  gold  to  \\> •: 
value  of  more  than  a  million  of  dollars  in  sol:< 
coin  told !  But  think  not  this  is  the  deposit  :>f 
Nature;  no,  it  is  the  fruit  of  my  first  discovery  of 
the  mountain's  secret  wealth,  less  than  thro- 
months  since;  here,  with  only  Edward  there  to 
keep  me  company,  collected  the  whole  of  this  v;;:-i 
treasure  together,  and  stored  it  in  this  cove,  till  ] 
could  return  for  it.  Only  we  two  knew  the  seen. :, 
— no  other  living  being,  save  yourself,  stranger. 
knows  of  this  cave,  or  the  hidden  riches  it  con. 
contains.  See,  stranger,  see!  lucky  was  the  dav 


~ 


88 


KIT  CARSON. 


in  whic  you  made  a  friend  of  .Kit  Carson,  the 
Prince  of  the  G  >ld  Hunters:  for  you  need  dig:  no 
more— in  this  treasure  I  swear  you  shall  share !' 

With  his  Herculean  hand,  as  he  spoke,  he  up 
lifted  a  solid  lump  of  pure  gold,  full  ten  pounds  in 
weight,  and  while  he  pointed  to  others  nearly  as 
large,  upon  the  cave's  rocky  floor,  he  poised  it  for 
a  moment  in  that  gigantic  palm,  then  placed  it  in 
the  convulsive  grasp  of  Eugene  Lincoln,  who, 
with  sparkling  eyes  and  heaving  breast,  and  deli 
rious  joy  on  every  manly  feature,  stood  rooted  to 
the  gifcund,  spasmodically  clutching  the  precious 
prize,  while  almost  the  language  of  deliriuna's 
wild  incoherence  fell  from  his  lips  ! 

« At  last— at  last— I  am  rich !  O  God,  rich  !— 
My  sister,  O  my  sister! — no  more  shall  you  want 
— no  more  shall  you  feel  the  bitter  sting  of  poverty 
— no  more  shall  yov  sigh  in  your  bitter  grief  over 
a  brother  made  a  drudging  slave  to  the  counter 
and  the  desk!  no  more  shall  you  pine  at  the  dark 
lot  of  your  Eugene — and  ah  !  my  angel-mother, 
O  would  that  you  were  once  more  on  earth,  to  en 
joy  the  wealth  exhaustless  God  has  given  to  your 
son,  you,  who  suffered  and  endured  so  much  for 
us!  Oh!  I' could  make  you  happy  now, — su 
premely  blest!  mother!  sister! — gold,  O  God, 
gold!' 

And  overwhelmed  by  emotion's  wild  torrent,  the 
heavy  metal  fell  from  his  hand,  ond  he  staggered, 
reeled,  and  sank  senseless  at  Carson's  feet. 

Oh,  how  different  from  the  miser's  sordid  joy 
was  this — all  unselfishness,  all  filial  and  fraternal 
love,  all  high  and  holy  feeling. 

Quick  as  human  limbs  can  move  at  sudden 
emergency's  call,  the  boy  Edward  sprang  to  the 
side  of  the  fallen  man,  knelt  by  his  prostrate  form 
and  bent  over  him,  and  as  wildly  sobbed, — 

*  O  Heaven  !  he  is  dying  !  speak !  O  speak  to 
me !  tell  me  that  you  live  !  You  must  not,  you 
shall  not  die!  My  God  !  there  is  no  light  in  his 
eye,  no  breath  on  his  lip.  He  is  dying — dying  ! 
O  God,  and  I  Joved  him  so !' 

And  pressing  that  lifeless  lip  with  a  frantic 
kiss,  the  strange  boy  sank,  in  a  lifeless  swoon  by 
his  side. 

The  amazement  of  the  startled  hunter  could 
only  be  equalled  by  his  consternation  at  this  double 
catastrophe.  But  accident  prevented  him  the  in 
dulgence  of  either  of  these  feelings,  a  sudden  oc 
currence  distracted  liiis  attention,  at  once. 

Sound  ascends:  and  then  the  voices  of  unknown 
interlocutors  became  ni^re  distinct,  took  form  and 
shaped  themselves  into  words,  clearly  audible  to 
Carson, — 

'  This  is  the  place — or  somewhere  very  near 
it' 

The  speaker's  tones,  as  these  words  were  said, 
were  firm  and  strong,  with  the  depth  and  volume 
of  manhood  in  its  prime ;  but  the  voice  that  im 
mediately  responded,  was  tremulous  and  quaver 
ing,  with  the  mumbling  accenls  of  old  age, — 

'  But  are  you  quite  sure — are  you  VERT  sure, 
Carl  ?' 


*  Sure !'  retorted  the  first  speaker,,  in  evident  im 
patience.     'SanStefato!  pon't  1  tell    thee  it  was 
here  I  saw  them  last  from  the  valley.  It  was  him, 
I'll  stake  my  soul  on  it—'tia   not  many  men  conld 
be  mistaken  for  Kit  Carson.' 

'  But  hia  men,  where  are  all  his  men  ?'  demand 
ed  the  other. 

*  Depend  upon  it,    he  left  them  lower  down 
the  mountain,  to. find  richer  pickings  for   himself 
here.     If  any    man   in   California   knows  where 
gold  is  to  be  found  in  greatest  plenty,  that  man  ig 
Kit  Carson.' 

4  Then  we  h'ive  dogged  them  to  some  pur 
pose — he,  he  !'  exultingly  chucked  the  other. — • 
*  We  are  to  share  alike,  Carl — -that  was  the  bar 
gain.' 

4  So,'  thought  Carson  as  he  overheard  the  last 
words,  'suspicion  has  been  raised  among  two,  at, 
least,  of  the^old-tjiggers  on  the  river,  and  1  am 
tracked  hither,  I  will  keep  close  and  watch 
them.' 

The  cavern  was  deep  and  dark,  and  stooping 
down,  1 19  raised  the  motionless  bodies  of  his  still 
unconscious  companions,  and  bore  them,  one  by 
one,  after  him  to  the  back  of  the  cave  ;  which 
was  wrapped  in  such  complete  obscurity  as  effec- 
tnally  to  conceal  the  figures  of  all  three,  while  it 
left  the  entrance  of  the  grotto,  and  any  intermedi 
ate  or  external  object,  in  the  light,  and  in  full  view 
of  the  secreted  Carson,  who  could  see  when  him- 
self  invisible. 

Scarcely,  however,  was  this  manceuvre  effected 
when  the  mouth  of  the  cave  was  darkened  by  two 
human  figures,  the  one,  as  the  hunter  saw,  a  de- 
crepid  old  man,  the  other  tall  and  powerful,  both 
known  to  the  reader  as  Carl,  the  California!!,  and 
John  Vernon,  the  miser. 

Each  took  a  step  within  the  cavern,  then,  in  the 
act,  recoiled  as  far,  actually  dazzled  by  the  sight 
of  the  incalculable  treasure  that  strewed  its  gold- 
piled  floor,  whence  was  reflected  back  the  sun 
light,  in  glittering,  flashing  brightness,  to  the  be 
wildered  eyes  of  those  who  gazed  on  the  tempting 
mass. 

In  an  instant,  the  sordid -souled  miser  was  gro 
velling  amid  the  golden  heaps,  and  shouting, — 

4  Ha,  ha  !  I  was  right — 1  was  right !  Here— 
here  is  Kit  Carson's  hoard — it  is  mine,  now — • 
he,  he!' 

While  his  companion,  Carl,  stooping  to  raise  the 
very  mass  of  gold  which  Eugene  Lincoln  had  a 
few  moments  previous  held,  stood  with  it  tightly 
clutched,  and  gazing  on,  it  in  astonishment,  re 
peating,  unconscious  that  he  was  overheard  by 
any,  save  his  companion,  the  miser, — 

*  The  largest  lump  I  have  yet  seen  ;  it  is  worth 
thousands  of  dollars  !     Ho,  ho!  the  rightful  owner 
shall  return  to  find  his   treasure  has  taken  wings.* 

4  Not  so  fast,  Sir  Spaniard  !  not  so  fast!  cried  a 
clear,  loud  voice  from  the  depths  and  darkness  of 
the  cave;  4Kit  Carson  is  here  to  protect  his 
own.' 

At  the  sudden  appearance  of  the  hunter,  at  the 


KIT  CARSON. 


89 


sound  of  his  startling  voice,  Carl  dropped  the  en 
ormous  piece  of  metal  that  he  hud  held,  and  re 
coiled,  as  if  stupefied. 

Not  so  the  miser.  John  Vcrnon  was  in  an  in 
stant  on  his  feet,  alarmed  avarice  overcoming,  as 
usual,  every  emotion  of  surprise,  awe,  or  personal 
apprehension ;  and  as  he  staggered  up,  he  caught 
at  the  heavy  in^ss  or  ore  as  it  fell  from  his  com- 
>fade's  grasp,  and  poising  it  a  moment  above  his 
own  head,  then,  with  the  whole  force  of  his  de- 
erepid  body  thrown  into  the  effort,  the  miser  hur 
led  the  ponderous  weight  of  solid  gold  full  at  the 
hunter,  crying, — 

'  You  shall  die — you  shall  die !  I  will  not  give 
up  the  gold  F 

The  metallic  missile  sped  throught  the  air,  like 
a  cannon-ball  in  its  flight,  and  had  it  struck  its 
living  target  it  would  have  brained  him  on  the 
spot. 

But  Kit,  Carson's  eye  was  like  the  eagle's,  and 
as  it  left  the  miser's  hand,  the  hunter  dodged. 

It  hurtled  past  his  head,  struck  against  the 
cave's  rocky  back,  then,  rebounding,  fell  on  the 
chest  of  Eugene  Lincoln,  who  still  lay  in  his  pre 
vious  state  of  stupor — the  blood  spurting  from  his 
breast ! 

The  sight,  the  effect,  were  instantaneous  upon 
Carson.  In  an  instant  more  he  had  taken  the 
murderous  miser  by  the  throat,  and  shook  him,  as 
if  he  would  have  driven  the  very  breath  from  his 
body. 

*  Carl !  Carl !  gasped  the  terrified  miser,  shriek 
ing  for  aid ;  and   the.  Californian,  drawing  a  poi- 
gnard  from  his  belt, -.sprang  on  the  hunter ! 

But  Carson  was'  a  match  for  both.  One  blow 
from  his  heavy  hand  knocked  the  stiletto  from  its 
owner's  'grasp;  then,  with  one  gigantic  arm 
thrown  round  the  waist  of  Carl,  the  other  clutch 
ing,  likewise,  the  miser's  withered  form,  he  caught 
them  up,  as  easily  as  he  would  have  done  as  many 
infants,  held  them  for  a  moment  at  arms'  length, 
to  show  them  their  utter  impotence;  and  then, 
again  and  again,  he  dashed  them  One  against  the 
other,  bringing  their  heads  and  bodies  each  time, 
with  fearful  violence,  in  contact — and  in  three 
momctits  cast  them,  senseless  and  stunned,  to 
gether,  to  the  ground,  and  all  with  one  firm  exer 
tion  of  his  amazing  strength  ! 

This  done,  he  turned  him  to  the  bleeding  Lin 
coln,  to  learn  the  extent  of  his  injury.  He  re 
lieved  his  breast  from  the  heavy  pressure  of  the 
golden  weight,  but  its  force  had  been  spent  upon 
the  stony  rocks,  and  though  it  had  cut  deep  into 
the  gore-stained  flesh,  he  hoped  it  had  broken  no 
bones.  Nevertheless  he  knew  that  the  wound 
demanded  care,  and  the  hunter  muttered,  thought 
fully  : 

*  He  must  have  attention ;  he  must   have  atten 
tion!     Luckily  I  have  a  surgeon   among  my  men 
— I  will  go  for  him,  instantly.' 

But  before  he  acted  upon  this  happy  suggestion, 
he  stopped  to  bind  the  insensible  Carl  and  his 
miser  confederate,  as  a  prudent  precaution  against 


their  esc  ipe,  should  they  revive  ere  his  return  ; 
then  leaving  his  assailants  securely  tied,  with  a 
last  anxious  look  at  the  bleeding  Lincoln  and  the 
still  inanimate  form  of  Edward  at  the  latter's  side, 
he  quitted  the  cave  and  hastily  descended  the 
mountain-side. 

Carson  found  the  night  setting  in  around  him  ; 
and  saw  that,  in  compliance  with  his  own  direc 
tions,  his  men  had  closed  their  first  day's  labors, 
and  pitched  their  camp,  where  they  had  left  their 
horses,  at  the  mountain's  base. 

He  was  soon  among  them,  calling  loudly  for  the 
surgeon  ;  but  scarcely  had  he  made  his  appear 
ance,  when  from  one  of  the  tents  a  couple  of  his 
men  hurried  forth  to  meet  him,  saying, — 

'  Oh,  we  have  been  hunting  for  you,  captain, 
this  half  hour!  A  lady  and  gentleman  are  here 
in  the  camp,  and  wish  to  see  you — the  men  are 
out  now,  in  search  of  you.' 

*  A  lady  and  gentleman  !'  repeated  the  chief,  in 
evident  surprise  ;  'come  to  see  Kit  Carson?  im 
possible  !' 

But  before  the  exclamation  was  well  out  of  his 
mouth,  the  hangings  of  the  tent  were  again  hoist 
ed,  to  give  egress  to  the  tall  figure  of  a  young 
man,  with  a  graceful  female  form  leaning  on  his 
arm ;  and  as  their  eyes  fastened  upon  him,  he 
heard  the  gentleman  say,  as  both  advanced,— 

'Oh,  that  is  he,  I  rm  sure  !  Kit  Carson  is  not 
a  man  to  be  mistaken,  though  neverseen  before. — 
But  the  portrait! — I  know  him  by  that— it  is  the 
same !' 

And  the  speaker  held  out  a  small  framed  paint 
ing  to  the  hunter,  with  a  hand  that  trembled  with 
eagerness. 

In  the  height  of  surprise,  he  to  whom  it  was 
tendered  mechanically  received  it ;  and  one  glance 
at  the  picture  caused  him  to  start  with  astonish 
ment  and  exclaim, — 

'  Ha  !  Heaven  and  earth,  this  is  .  my  portrait ! 
Speak !  where  did  you  get  this  ?  and  who  are 
you  ?' 

'  Read  this  packet !  read  this  packet ;  if  will  ex 
plain  all,'  was  the  excited  reply;  then  with  a 
strange  show  of  joy,  the  gentleman  turned  to  the 
lady  on  his  arm,  in  a  glad  tone  ejaculating, — 

'Found  !  found  at  last!  Aft^r  all  my  trials,  all 
my  dangers,  I  have  met  Kit  Carson — I  have  met 
him  ;  and  my  father's  last  injunction  is  fulfilled  !' 

The  bewildered  hunter  mechanically  had  torn 
open  the  packet,  but  the  first  look  that  he  gave  at 
the  signature  he  found  within  caused  fresh  start 
and  a  cry — 

.  'Vernon!  Vernon!  Surely,  surely  I  should 
know  that  name  !  Ha!  by  Heaven,  these  initials! 
— the  same,  the  very  same — it  is,  must  be  the  very 
man  to  whom  I  once  solemnly  vowed ' 

The  sentence  was  not  completed  ;  for  the  con 
tents  had  suddenly  enchained  his  whole  interest. 
Twice  the  time  necessary  for  its  perusal  passed  ere 
he  looked  up,  at  length — he  had  evidently  been 
reflecting  deeply,  as  well  as  reading. 

*  And  so   'tis   as    I   suspected  ;  this  is  from  my 


90 


KIT  CARSON. 


old  friend,  the  nabob  Vernon,  relating  to  the  past 
.\las  !  Fate  never  destined  that  I  should  fulfill  the 
conditional  vow  I  made  him.  His  poor  boy's  fate 
is  still  as  great  a  mystery  to  Kit  Carson  as  to  him 
self.  And  yet,  in  one  point,  it  seems  he  did  de 
ceive  me !  Heavens !  what  is  this  he  says  ?—  the 
child  a  girl,  dressed  in -boy's  clothes — its  sex  dis 
guised,  and  for  how  strange  a  reason!  It  was  a 
female,  not  a  male  child,  then,  1  should  have 
Bought  for !' 

Thoughtfully,  agitatedly,  he  spoke,  then  turned 
to  his  stranger  visitor, — 

*  And  you,  the  bearer  of  this  packet,  the  mes 
senger — who  are  you  ?' 

*  I  am  Henry  Vernon,  the  writer's  son,'  was  the 
quick  reply.      4Fato   itself  seemed  to  conspire 
against  me  in  my  search  for  you,  or  I  should  have 
found  you  out  days  before.      But  for  my  uncle's 
hellish  plot '  " 

*  Your  uncle  ?'  iteratad  Carson,  inquiringly. 
'Ha!  1  forgot;  you  know  nothing  of  him;  nor 

have  I  time  for  explanation.  Suffice  it  that  I  have 
an  uncle.,  here  in  California ;  one  who,  prompted 
by  his  ruling  passion,  avarice,  has  often  plotted  my 
ruin.' 

'  But  you  escaped.' 

'  I  did — 'twas  that  detained  me,'  Henry  replied, 
•while  the  lady  earnestly  interposed,  saying, — 

4  O  sir,  it  was  a  deadly  peril  he  escaped !  His 
fearful  uncle  plotted  with  a  Spanish  ruffian — a  na 
tive,  I  believe — to  drug  his  wine  ;  not  with  poison, 
but  with  some  subtle  narcotic,  that  he  might  be 
left  behind  by  the  caravan,  in  which  all  three  were 
journeying  to  the  gold  mines,  to  be  devoured  by 
wild  beasts,  ere  he  recovered  again  his  faculties.' 

4  A  fiend's  contrivance,  truly,  lady  !' 

*  It  was  ;  but  kind  Heaven  saved  him ;  it  moved 
the  ruffian  Spaniard's  heart  to  compassion;   and 
though  he  took  his  instigator's  money,  and  assured 
him  the  fearful  business  was  done  in  every  partic 
ular,  yet  it  seems  he  was  not  totally  depraved,  and 
determined  to  save  the  victim's  life ;  and  so,  in 
stead  of  leaving  him  on  the  open  plain,  where  the 
wolves  would  have  been  feasting  on  his  carcase, 
long  ere  the  fatal  potion  could  have  been  slept  off, 
the  man  conveyed  him  secretly  to  the  security  of 
a  little  cave,  which  he  barricaded  at  the  entrance, 
so  as  to  prevent   wild  beasts  from  entering,  but 
which  the  victim,  on  recovering  from  the  stupor  of 
the  narcotic,  could  himself  easily  displace.  Thank 
God  !  he  did  escape ;  and  though  the  caravan  was 
not  to  be  overtaken,  he  readily  found  his  way  back 
to  San  Francisco,  where ' 

The  voice  of  the  lady  faltered,  and  she  colored 
slightly. 

4  Where,  dear  Ellen,  I  returned  once  more  to 
meet  the  dearest  thing  on  earth  to  me!'  interposed 
Henry,  with  a  look  of  matchless  affection.  4  But 
to  that  dreadful  danger  I  owe  it,  that  you  insisted 
on  accompanying  me  now,  dear  girl.  Curses  upon 

yet  no,  I  will  not  curse  that  unhappy  man — 

he  is  my  father's  brother,  and  he  is  an  old  man 
and  a  monomaniac.' 


At  the  last  words,  Carson  started  again,  slightly 
and  said, — 

'  Ha !  it  may  be  so !  This  uncle,  this  unnatural 
relation,  was  he  an  old  man,  a  decrepid  cripple  ?' 

4  He  was.    How  !  have  you  since  met  wit  him  ?' 

4  And  this  tool  of  his  ?'  proceeded  Carson,  hasti 
ly  ;  4  a  Spaniard,  you  say  he  was,  a  dark  skinned, 
powerful  fellow  ?' 

4 Yes;  but— but ' 

'Come  with  me,  then !  I  think  I  know  them 
both ,  follow  me,  if  you  would  see  your  intended 
murderers.  They  have  fallen  into  Kit  Carson's 
toils!  Mr.  Vernon,  come!  and  you,  too,  lady, 
though  Kit  Carson  knows  you  not!' 

4  Her  name  is  Ellen  Lincoln,  sir,  or  was  .p  re 
plied  Henry,  and  stopped.  .,''•'  ; 

4 Lincoln!  Ha!  can  it  be  a  coincidence? — 
Strange — strange!  and  yet,  Eugene  has  told  me 

all  his  history: — his  separation  from yes!  by 

the  Heaven  above  me,  I  do  believe  it  is !  and J 

4 Great  Heaven!  what  mean  you?'  exclaimed 
Ellen,  darting  to  his  side. 

4 Follow  me!  climb  the  mountain  with  Kit  Car 
son,  and  you  shall  know.'  And  the  hunter  paused 
only  to  snatch  a  lighted  torch  from  one  of  the  men ; 
then  hurried  on. 

Agitated  by  a  strange  conflict  of  emotions,  they 
as  hurriedly  obeyed,  not  knowing  what  construc 
tion  to  put  upon  the  strange  conduct  of  their  mys 
terious  conductor.  Breathlessly,  at  length,  they 
arrived  at  the  mouth  of  the  cave. 

The  hunter  was  the  first  to  enter,  folio  wed  close 
by  Henry  and  Ellen.  The  former  halted  abruptly, 
while  Henry  and  Ellen  echoed  the  cry  of  horror 
that  broke  from  the  hunter's  lips. 

What  a  sight  was  disclosed  by  the  torch-light. 

There,  at  the  back  of  the  cavern,  loosed  from 
his  bonds,  unfettered  and  free,  bending  down  over 
the  inanimate  form  of  Eugene  Lincoln,  John  Ver 
non  stood,  with  the  stiletto  of  Carl  bared  above 
the  breast  of  the  helpless  young  man!  while  the 
miser's  chuckling  voice  was  heaid  in  omninous 
exultation,  mingled  with  a  demon  laugh, — 

4 Ha!  ha!  this  man  once  removed,  the  treasure 
is  left  unguarded! — this  man  slain,  and  more  than 
the  riches  of  Crcesus  belong  to  John  Vernon  Ho, 
ho!  I'll  strike  home  and  sure!' 

The  stiletto  gleamed  in  the  torch-light — flashed 
— descended — and  rose,  crimsoned  with  blood  ! 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

The  Attempted  Murder  in  the  Cavt.—Tke  Re-union 
of  Sister  and  Brother. — The  Miser  Discovers  Ms 
Children. — Asto  unding  Disclosures. 

Fote — ever  a  mystery— 

Weaveth  its  coils ; 
Amid  all  life's  history, 

Who  'scapes  its  toils  ?  ,  ;)9ijr 
Vice  —  its  own.  penalty —  ,,  v; 


KIT  CARSON. 


91 


Destiny  foils ; 
And  sin  melancholy ; 
Crime  self-recoils  ! 

AT  UNPUBLISHED  POEM. 

BY  one  bold  bound,  Kit  Carson,  the  avenger, 
gained  the  spot.  Vengeance  shone  in  his  eye, 
nerved  his  arm  ;  as  full  three  yards  back  from  his 
bleeding  victim,  on  the  rock  floor,  the  now  crouch 
ing  miser  was  dragged  by  that  resistless  arm. 

'Miscreant!  hoary-headed  miscreant,  lie  there! 
This  is  the  second  time,  in  one  short  day,  you  have 
sought  to  be  a  murderer,  blood-thirsty  gray-beard  ! 

A  powerful  foot  was  placed  upon  the  chest  of 
the  miser,  that  held  the  assassin  down,  while  the 
baffled  old  man  would  fain  have  cowered  trem 
blingly  away  from  the  terrible  eye  that  glared 
down  at  him ;  and  as  his  own  averted  glance  quiv 
ered,  full  of  fear,  around,  it  lighted  on  the  two, 
well-known  figures,  that  had  paused,  spell-bound 
by  horror,  at  the  cavern's  mouth. 

'Ha!  my  nephaw!  Curses,  curses  !  has  the 
grave  given  up  its  own?' 

'My  uncle!  OGod!'  was  Henry's  faint  response. 
'  For  the  third  time  he  is  an  assassin !' 

But  the  terrified  old  man  seemed  to  think  it  was 
a  supernatural  visitation,  and  with  a  groan  covered 
his  eyes,  as  thougli  to  shut  out  the  fearful  sight. 

A  cry,  a  shriek  from  Ellen,  at  the  same  moment, 
re-awoke  the  echoes  of  the  cave,  as,  swiftly  past 
Kit  Carson  Harry's  companion  bounded, — 

'  Mercy !  mercy  !  my  God  !  It  is  Eugene — it  is 
Eugene!  O,  my  brother!  Murdered!  Heavenly 
Father!  murdered!  and  I  meet  thee  again,  butto 
see  thee  die  !  The  blood  !— the  blood  !  See  the 
fearful  gore  upou  his  breast !' 

'  The  wretch  has  slain  him,'  sighed  Carson,  sadly. 

Henry,  who  had  followed  Ellen's  own  impulsive 
movement,  and  was  bending  in  as  great  an  agony 
of  feeling  over  Eugene,  suddenly  exclaimed, — 

'  No,  no  ;  he  is  not  dead !  The  dagger  seems 
to  have  inflicted  only  a  slight  scratch ;  it  cannot 
have  caused  this  effusion  of  blood,  nor  can  it  be  a 
serious  injury,  much  less  a  fatal  one. 

Carson  at  once  remembered  the  contusion  made 
by  the  falling  mass  of  gold  that  had  been  aimed 
at  his  owned  life;  but  he  could  not  conceive  how 
Lincoln  could  have  escaped  serious  injury  from 
the  assassin's  knife. 

But  Henry  had  already  torn  aside  the  vest  of 
Eugene,  and  Carson  perceived  the  knife  had  left, 
indeed,  but  a  scratch,  a  mere  trifle :  the  cause  of 
which  was  also  immediately  obvious. 

The  weapon  had  been  aimed,  with  murderous 
accuracy,  at  the  seat  of  life  just  above  the  heart, 
hanging  by  a  gold  chain,  was  found  a  jewelled 
miniature,  on  the  metallic  case  of  which  was  found 
a  deep  indentation,  caused  by  the  dagger's  point, 
which  had  glanced  harmlessly  aside. 

'  It  is  our  sainted  mother's  miniature  which  has 
saved  his  life,'  sobbed  the  sister  ;  '  he  has  always 
worn  i*  next  his  heart! see!  see!  he  is  reviv- 


It  was  so.  The  gradual  loss  of  blood  had  had 
the  effect  to  restore  him  to  consciousness — though 
by  slow  degrees  at  first. 

Ellen  threw  herself  -beside  him,  and  kissed  his 
pale  lips  again  and  again.  Henry,  deeply  moved, 
stood  by  ;  while  the  hunter,  sharing  more  than  he 
himself  suspected,  in  his  feelings,  strove  to  hide 
them  by  reverting  to  other  objects. 

The  miser,  with  his  eyes  still  closed,  lay  a  shud 
dering  prisoner  beneath  his  feet;  a  few  feet  from 
him  lay  the  form  of  Carl,  securely  pinioned,  as 
Carson  had  left  him,  and  the  latter  at  once  sur 
mised,  and  correctly,  that  the  old  man  must  have 
managed  to  extract  the  dagger  of  his  fellow  pri 
soner  from  his  built,  and  with  it  severing  his  own 
bonds  place  himself  at  liberty. 

A  deep  sigh  from  Lincoln,  recalled  Carson  to 
the  group  at  the  cavern's  rear,  as  the  former  tried 
to  struggle  to  his  feet ;  and  as  he  made  the  attempt, 
the  bewildered  brother  found  himself  face  to  face 
with  the  image  of  his  Ellen  ! 

'  Sister!'  he  wildly  shrieked.  « Great  God !  am 
ImddT 

'No,  no!  it  is  I— Ellen— your  own  sister!* 
sobbed  the  girl. 

It  was  obvious  that  the  young  man  considered 
himself  in  a  dream,  or  demented.  He  raised  him 
self  upon  his  knees ;  he  took  the  maiden's  hand 
within  his  own ;  he  pressed  it  again  and  again,  as 
if  to  assure  himself  that  it  was  warm  flesh  and 
blood  he  grasped,  and  gazed  long  and  wistfully 
upon  each  familiar  lineament,  then,  as  with  a  cry 
of  joy  he  cast  himself  into  her  open  arms,  he  fainly 
faltered  forth,— 

'  You  are  my  sister ! — angel  or  mortal,  you  are 
she!' 

'  I  am,  Eugene,  I  am ;  and  you  are  my  own  dear 
brother !  1  know  not  how  this  happens — I  care 
not,  so  it  is  yourself  I  meet  once  more.' 

Wild,  wild  wa%  the  joy  of  the  brother,  as  he 
faintly  cried, — 

"Tis  thee!  'tis  thee,  dearest,  sweetest  sister! 
truest  of  sisters  and  thy  sex,  we  meet  again! 

4  We  do  ;  we  do.  Yet  how  strange  is  now  that 
meeting  1  stranger  even  than  our  parting,  noblest 
of  brothers !' 

'  Ellen,  God  bless  you — my  pride—  my  pet !'  the 
brother  sobbed  in  his  joy,  aloud. 

'Bless  you,  Eugene!  and  have  you  not  one 
word  for  Henry  ?'  asked  the  glad  girl. 

'  Yes,  for  an  old  friend,  Lincoln — you  have  not 
forgotten  him  ?'  And  Vernon  eagerly  advanced. 

Lincoln  started  ;  then,  without  a  word,  held  out 
his  arms,  and  the  friends  met  in  friendship's  em 
brace. 

'And  Ellen,  Henry?  you  have  been  kind — a 
brother  to  her?' 

'  More  than  that, — a  husband,  Eugene, — she  is 
my  wife  !' 

'  Your  wife !' 

*  My  wedded  wife,  Eugene  ;  we  were  solemnly 
united  three  days  ago,  in  San  Francisco. 

The  brother  turned  a  startled  glance  apon  his 


KIT  CARSON. 


sister.  In  her  sweet  confusion,  in  her  ingenious 
truthful  face,  he  read  the  confirmation.;  and  with  a 
full  heart,  enclosed  the  bride  and  bridegroom  in 
one  common  embrace. 

'O  Heaven,  Eugene/  exclaimed  Henry,  with 
unsuppressed  agitation;  'to  think  that  you  should 
have  so  nearly  perished  by  my  uncle's  hand ! 
Thank  that  noble  hunter,  yonder,  that  you  are  not 
John  Vernon's  murdered  victim. 

'Jo/m  Vernon  r 

Wildly  repeated  Eugene  that  name.  His  eyes 
Ibst  the  love-light  of  affection,  and  shone  with  a 
vengeful  glare.  He  startad,  turned,  and  his  eye 
flashed  round,  as  if  in  search  of  the  one  to  whom 
the  name  could  possibly  belong. 

His  doubts,his  suspicions  centred  upon  the  gray- 
haired  old. man  held  down  by  Carson's  iron  heel, 
and  who,  aroused  by  the  fresh  reiteration  of  his 
Own  name,  tremblingly  unclosed  his  eyes,  and 
their  serpent-glance  flitted  round  the  group,  and 
then  fixed,  like  the  basilisks,  on  him! 

The  miser  recognised  him  by  the  torch's  glare, 
and'  his  cheek  grew  paler  yet,  as  the  other  bounded 
forward,  the  words  of  vengeance  on  his  lips,— 

{  Ha !  accursed  name  !  Fou,  then  are  John 
Vernon — that  same  man  who  once  had  me  arrested, 
thrust  into  prison,  like  a  doer,  separated  from  my 
sister — devil  that  yon  are.  You  are  my  secret  foe 
— the  mortal  enemy  of  me  and  mine  ?  Wretch  ! 
the  hour  of  retribution  has  come !' 

But,  ere  the  uplifted  arm  descended,  ere  the  blow 
was  struck,  ere  the  revenge  of  a  goaded  spirit  could 
be  taken  ;  a  wild  strange  cry.  not  of  terror,  not  of 
despair,  not  of  desperation — but  indescribably  thril 
ling  and  peculiar,  arrested,  involuntarily,  the  pur 
pose  and  the  deed. 

'Ha!'  shrieked  the  miser,  and  started  up  so  sud 
denly  as  to  displace  the  foot  of  Carson  that  had 
so  long  pinned  him  to  the  earth.  '  Ha!  what  is 
this?  where  got  you  this? — speak!' 

And  reaching  frantically  forward  ere  the  con 
founded  Lincoln  could  conceive  his  purpose,  he 
snatched  at  the  jewelled  miniature  that  had  saved 
its  wearer's  life,  and  tore  it  from  the  young  man's 


side,  with  a  violence  that  broke  ,^he  golden  chain 
by  which  it  was  suspended  from  his  neck. 

'  Speak !  speak  !'  he  cried  again !  '  answer  me ! 
answer  me !  how  came  you  by  this  miniature  ?' 

Never  did  the  eyes  of  John  Vernon  gloat  on 
treasure  with  more  burning  eagerness,  than  :now 
they  gloated  upon  the  object  in  his  hand,  while 
fearful  convulsions  seemed  to  shake  his  frame. 

*  In  the  fiend's  name,'  he  shouted,  'will  you  an 
swer  me  or  not?' 

'  Tis  the  likeness  of  my  mother—my  angel  mo 
ther  in  Heaven,'  involuntarily  replied  Eugene. 

'Thou  liest.!'  yelled  the  miser,  in  a  voice  of  thun 
der  ;  ' it  is  the  picture  of  my  wife.  I  tell  thee, 
boy,  thou  liest !  I  say  it  was  my  wife's  !' 

'Not  so — not  so!  'twas  my  dead  mother's — I 
swear  it!' .cried  Eugene,  solemnly. 

'Liar!  liar  and  thief!'  screamed  the  old  raan ; 
'you  stole  it!' 

'  I  stole  it ! 

•  Yes,  villain,  yes  !     Here  are  the  features, — the 
mouth,  the  eye,  the  forehead  of— of— my  fugitive 
wife !' 

'  Your  fugitive,  wife  /'  shrieked  back  a  voice  of 
superhuman  agony.  'For  God's  srke!  unsay  tfc  se 
horrid  words  !  Almighty  Heaven  !  you,  then,  ire 
my  father— my  mother  was  your  wife  /' 

The  hapless  young  man  staggered,  threw  u]  Ms 
arms  to  Heaven,  then  sank,  with  a  single  groa  »  at 
his  unnatural  parent's  feet!' 

'  Sainted  spirit  of  my  mother !'  murmured  a  heart 
broken  voice.  '  Eugene,  O  Eugene !  we! — we  the 
children  of  John  Vernon  the  Miser  /' 

And  the  gasping  Ellen  fell,  like  a  lightning 
stricken  flower,  upon  her  brother's  sense- deserted 
body,  happily,  like  him,  insensible  to  this  bitterest 
blow  of  the  relentless  persecutor,  Fate! 

'Holy  Heaven!'  faltered  Henry  Vernon;  'they— 
have  found  in  me  a  cousin,  in  my  uncle  a  father 
— and  that  wretched  man  would  have  murdered  his 
own  son  '' 

The  self-same  moment  the  startling  report  of  a 
pistol  rang  through  the  cave,  and  then  a  two-fold 
cry. 


: 
V/;, 


•,'iu  : 


OH 


THE  DEPARTING  GOLD-HUNTER'S 
FAREWELL 

OJf    THE 

BANKS  OF  THE  SACRAMENTO. 


KIT  CARSON. 


95 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

AND     LAST. 

The  Revealing  of  Strange  Secrets. — Kit  Carson 
breaks  the  Gordion  Knot  of  Mystery  lie  could 
not  untie.— The  Foiv  fulfilled  ai  Last. 

1  New  England,  New  England,  my  home  o'er  the 

sea! 

The  wanderer's  heart  turn,  in  fondness,  to  thee !' 
. 

CONFUSION  of  mind  and  vision,  for  a  moment, 
came  over  Harry  Vernon — it  was  no  wonder  that 
it  did.  Then  it  was  that  he  collected  himself  suf 
ficiently  to  look  round,  for  the  cause  of  the  strange 
and  startling  climax  that  had  been  placed  to  a 
thrilling  scene. 

Kit  Carson  stood  three  feet  from  him,  with  the 
smoke  rolling  from  the  muzzle  of  a  discharged 
pistol  in  his  hand.  The  cloud  cleared  off  in  an 
instant,  and  disclosed  the  tall  figure  of  Girl,  the 
Californian,  just  in  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  his  face 
contorted  into  an  expression  of  anguish  the  most 
acute  ;  while  a  torrent  of  blood  was  flowing  down 
his  right  arm,  which  hung  helpless  by  his  side. 
It  was  broken  at  the  elbow. 

A  laugh  of  stern  irony  fell  from  Carson's  lips, — 

1  Ha,  ha !'  my  good  friend,  and  did  you  think  to 

give  Kit  Carson  the  slip  so  easily  ?      So,  ho  !  I 

%have  cut  short  your  retreat  somewhat  abruptly,  I 

fear.      Back  with  you,  or  the  next  shot  goes  to 

your  heart.' 


*  Ha !'  uttered  Henry,  '  the  traitor  who — but  no ! 
he  was  my  uncle's  accomplice  in  my  meditated 
ruin,  but  he  spared  my  life.  He  was  more  mer 
ciful  than  Ids  master,  and  was  but  a  tool,  after  all. 
Stay !  spare  him  ;  he  is  already  punished  enough : 
I,  at  least,  am  content.' 

'So  be  it,  then;  the  villain  has  some  redeem 
ing  qualities.  Begone,  sir  Spaniard  !— you  are 
free  to  go,  but  never  cross  my  path  again.  Let 
that  broken  arm  be  a  memorial  of  Kit  Carson, 
and  thank  this  gentleman  that  you  fare  no  worse. 
Away !' 

The  Californian,  only  too  glad  to  comply,  slunk 
hurriedly  away  ;  and  in  a  few  moments  they  saw 
the  retreating  figure  of  the  wounded  ruffian  far 
down  the  mountain,  and  saw  him  not  again. 

His  escape  from  the  bonds  that  confined  him 
had  been  effected  much  in  the  same  manner  as 
the  miser's,  for  Carson,  when  he  wrenched  the 
stiletto  from  the  old  man's  hand,  hurled  it  several 
feet  from  him,  causing  it  to  fall  within  reach  of 
Carl's  fettered  hand,  with  which  he  contrived  to 
free  himself,  as  his  aged  confederate  had  done 
before  him,  unperceived  and  unthought  of,  in  the 
excitement  of  the  surrounding  scene.  Pie  had 
stumbled,  however,  in  rising ;  and  the  hunter's 
ever  ready  ear  had  discovered  the  half-accom 
plished  flight. 

It  was  his  cry  of  pain  which  had  so  startled 
Henry,  but  it  was  not  the  only  one  ho  had  heard, 
and  he  turned  to  the  hunter,  saying, — 

4  Was  there  not  another  voice  ?  There  seemed 
to  be  a  double  cry.' 


96 


KIT  CARSON. 


*  There  was  ;  and  it  was  Edward's  voice  !'  ex 
claimed   the  hunter,  as    if  speaking  to   himself. 
*  Such  strange  events  have  crowded  on  us,  I  have 
not  once  thought  of  him.      The  stunning  report 
of  the  pistol-shot,  deepened  by  the  cavern's  ech 
oes,  must  have  dispelled,  with  its  sudden  shock 
her  protracted  swoon.     Edward  !'  he  shouted. 

A  faint  voice  articulated, — *  Carson,  Carson ! — 
Eugene,  Eugene !' 

*  Ha  !'  ejaculated  the  hunter,  *  what  means  this 
strange  coupling  of  names  ?     How  very  singular 
ly  you  act  in  all  things  concerning  the  stranger 
Lincoln !' 

He  sprang  as  he  spoke,  torch  in  hand,  to  that 
part  of  the  cave  to  which  he  had  borne  his  pro 
tege,  and  gently  he  drew  forth  the  graceful  form 
of  the  handsome  boy. 

*  Ah,  dear  Carson,'  murmured  the  revived  youth 
4  what  fearful  shock  was  that  that  recalled  my 
wandering  senses?   it  seemed  like  the  thunder's 
roar!' 

The  subterranean  reverberations  had  indeed 
given  the  pistol's  detonation  a  stunning  sound — 
and  its  effect  upon  the  swooning  condition  of  the 
miser's* children  was  n  too  premature  re-awaken 
ing. 

Poor  Ellen  heaved  the  first  sigh,  drew  the  first 
returning  breath,  but  her  brother,  with  blood-shot 
eyes  and  haggard  cheek,  was  the  first  to  stagger 
to  his  feet.  The  blood  had  ceased  to  stream  from 
his  wounded  chest,  but  it  had  left  his  garments 
dyed  with  its  ensanguined  stains. 

Father !' he  gasped,  convulsively;  and  there 
before  him,  as  he  spoke  the  word,  cowering,  grov 
elling  in  the  very  dust,  looking  as  if  he  sought  to 
shrink  within  himself— as  if  he  would  have  re 
joiced  to  see  the  earth  open  and  swallow  him  from 
his  injured  son's  sight.  But,  alas  !  it  was  the  at 
titude  into  which  the  first  soul-blasting  disclosure 
had  petrified  him,  as  it  were ;  it  was  the  attitude, 
only,  with  the  awful  feeling  no  longer,  for  as  the 
eon  repeated  that  one  word— *  Father !'  an  idiotic 
laugh  replied  ! 

*  Ellen,  Ellen!'  moaned  the  once  more  stricken 
son.     'Holy  Heaven!  the  shock  of  this  dreadful 
discovery  has  quite  overturned  his  wits.' 

1  Heaven  pity  us,  brother !  O  .hear  that  horrid 
merriment!'  gasped  Ellen,  as  peal  on  peal  6f  the 
lunatic's  hideous  mirth  made  the  cavern  ring 


again,  to  the  ghastly  music  that  demons  love  to 
howl  amid  infernal  torments.  '  Our  hapless  fa 
ther  is  a  maniac  now — a  monomaniac  no  longer  !* 
As  the  wretched  son  turned  with  a  shudder  of 
unutterable  aversion  from  his  yet  more  miserable 
father,  the  eye  of  the  boy  Edward  detected  the 
blood-stained  garments  of  the  young  man,  on 
which  the  torch-light  broadly  fell,  and  with  a  • 
thrilling  cry  that  syllabled  its  own  echoes  into 
words, — 

,  Oh  Heaven !  he  is  wounded  fearfully  ! — Eu 
gene,  my  own,  idolized  Eugene  1  I  will  die  with* 
you !'  the  lad  threw  himself  wildly  into  the  ex 
tended  arms  of  the  miser's  son,  who,  heedless 
alike  of  the  astonishment  of  every  spectator,  of 
the  inexplicable  movement,  caught  the  youth  in 
his  warm  caress,  and  repeatedly  kissing  the  lips 
of  that  beautiful  boy,  fervently  uttered  the  words: 

'  You  and,  Ellen -your  love  is  left  to  me — why 
should  I  grieve?  .  I  will  not;  no,  I  will  not* 
enough  is  left  for  happiness.  But  your  fears  de 
ceive  you,  dearesU  I  know  not  how  comes  this 
blood  upon  my  breast,  but  I  feel  I  am  not  seri 
ously  hurt.  Apprehend  nothing,  dearest  one.' 

Unutterable  was  the  amazement  of  Ellen  and 
Henry ;  but  far  more  than  all,  the  hunter.  In  hia 
strange  surprise,  Nature  denied  him,  for  the  mo 
ment,  speech: 

The  boy  Edward  appeared  to  mark  this,  lias- 
tily  he  withdrew  from  Lincoln's  embrace,  bounded 
back,  and  in  an  instant  was  kneeling  at  the  hun 
ter's  teet. 

'Generous,  noble  Carson,  forgive  me!'  mur 
mured  the  lad. 

The  tongue  of  the  frontiersman  was  unchained 
once  more, — , 

'  Forgive  you,  boy !' 

'  Yes,  my  noble-hearted  benefactor,  forgive  me 
for  yea'rs  of  deception  and  duplicity,  days  and 
hours  of  constant  deceit,  of  which  you  were  the 
unsuspecting  object!  Yet  oh!  it  was  with  the 
purest  and  best  of  motives,  as  I  believed !' 

'Edward!  are  you  mad?'  said  the  hunter, 
sternly. 

'No,  no  ;  only  mad  to  carry  on  the  delusion  so 
long,?  exclaimed  the  strange  lad,  embracing  Car 
son's  knees;  'my  friend,  my  patron,  my  benefac 
tor,  I  have  strangely,  cruelly  deceived  you — lam 
not  of  the  same  sex  of  yourself ' 


KIT    CARSON, 


'  Mad,  mad  as  a  March  hare !'  broke  in  the  hon 
est  hunter 

'No,  no;  Christopher  Carson,  the  Edward 
whom  you  have  loved,  protected  and  cherished — 
the  supposed  boy,  Edward,  ii  a  woman  /* 

There  was  a  thrilling  gilence  of  fall  three 
breathless  moments  in  the  cave.  The  effect  upon 
the  hunter  had  been  moat  powerful,  yet  he  was 
he  first  to  break  the  silence  that  followed  the  as* 
ounding  confession. 

4 1  believe  you,  Edward!  you  never  yet  told 
Kit  Carson  a  lie ;  but,  for  once,  he  is  non-plussed. 
Blind  mole  that  I  was,  not  to^have  perceived  this 
itefore ;  I  who  have  been  your  constant  guardian 
and  companion  for  more  than  ten  years,  while  a 
stranger,  whom  you  have  not  known  a  mouth, 
discovered  it! — but  lover's  eyes,  they  Bay,  are. 
sharper  than  a  lynx'a.' 

'It  was  accident  exposed  the  truth,'  replied 
Lincoln,  while  the  cheek,  neck  and  bosom  of  the 
'soi-distsnt'  boy  crimsoned  again  and  again; 
accident  like  .vise  enabled  me  to  save  her  life — 
we  loved  each  other  from  that  hour.  I  avowed 
my  knowledge  of  her  sex's  secret  to  her,  obtained 
her  own  confession  of  that  secret  and  of  her  love 
in  return,  and,  Carson,  we  have  been  betrothed 
lovers  for  near  a  fortnight  now,— ever  since  the 
night  of  the  prairie  fire. 

The  good  hunter's  astonished  feelings  now 
seemed  to  take  a  new  direction,  aa  he  said, 
thoughtfully,— 

'  And  not  the  remotest  suspicion  of  this  ever 
occurred  to  me !  strange,  indeed !  yet,  in  the  In 
dian  camp,  from  whence  I  rescued  you,  you  were 
dressed  as  a  boy  ;  and  as  a  boy  I  reared  you. 
Now  I  understand  your  inconsistency,  your  timid 
ity  ;  at  times,  your  settled  reserve,  and  unaccount 
able  desire  to  avoid  all  familiarity  with  my  honest 
men.  I  see  it  now,  it  was  but  womanly  delicacy. 
But  why  did  you  keep  your  sex  a  secret  from  me» 
your  only  friend  ?' 

'Because,  my  beloved  benefactor,  I  wished  to 
be  ever  near  to  you,  to  share  in  your  dangers  and 
your  toils,  and  I  knew  that  if  my  sex  was  known, 
you  would  never  suffer  it,  that  it  could  not  be. 
This  was  when  I  grew  to  think  and  reason  my 
self;  before  that,  as  a  child,  I  waa  too  youn?  to 
make  proper  distinction ;  and  when  1  became 


older,  and  my  mind  and  person  began  to  mature, 
after  my  return  from  the  Mexican  boarding-school  . 
where  you  placed  me,  in  your  generous  desire 
that  your  protege  should  receive  the  benefits  of 
education  and  society,  much  as  you  yourselt 
scorned  the  latter — I  felt  a  strong  disinclination 
to  exchange  my  long  familiar  dress  for  a  Costume 
and  character  that,  though  of  right  belonging  to 
me,  I  knew  musi  separate  me  from  my  only  friend* 
There  was  also,  dear  Carson,  another  reason, — I 
had  a  constant  presentiment  lhat  by  retaining  the 
only  dress  I  ever  remembered  to  have  worn, some 
clue  might  some  day  possibly  be  gained  concern 
ing  the  stolen  foundling  of  the  Indian  camp,  her 
birth,  perhaps,  and -' 

'  Her  birth !'  reiterated  Carson,  quickly.  '  Ha ! 
by  Heaven !  I  bethink  me  of  a  strange  coinci 
dence  !  why  did  it  not  strike  me  before  ?'  Here ' 
Henry  Vernon,  here  is  the  packet  you  brought 
me  from  your  father ;  read  it !  read  it  aloud,  so 
every  one  can  hear.' 

The  young  student  started,  as  if  moved,  too, 
by  a  sudilen  suspicion,  but  he  did  not  dare  to 
think,  at  the  moment.  The  tone  in  which  the 
hunter  spoke  was  excited,  peremptory  ;  its  effect 
upon  Henry  was  sympathetic.  He  hurriedly 
complied ;  received  and  read  the  packet  to  the 
end. 

As  he  concluded,  as  the  last  word  closed  the 
confession  of  a  father's  strange  secret,  one  simul 
taneous  glance  of  startled  intelligence  passed 
round  the  group ;  each  member  of  which  read, 
in  his  or  her  meaning  look,  the  other's  thoughts* 

'  Enough !'  cried  Kit  Carson ;  '  it  is  plain  as 
day.  Henry  Vernon,  this  girl  in  disguise  is  the 
sister  you  seek  /' 

Harry  waited  for  no  more,  the  so  called  Ed* 
ward  found  a  brother's  arms  and  a  brother's  em 
brace  ;  but  some  time  was  it  ere  she  could  be 
made  to  credit  that  there  was  truth  and  reality 
in  the  strange  and  joyous  surprises  that  surround 
ed  her. 

But  good  tidings  are  not  difficult  to  believe  ; 
she  was  poon  convinced.  The  joy  of  one  and 
all  needs  not  to  be  told,  nor  the  wild  ecstacy  ol 
Lincoln,  when  the  guardian  of  the  loved  one 
placed  her  hand  within  that  of  the  young  man, 
and  said,  in  his  own,  noble  way,— 


KIT  CARBON. 


*  Take  her,  in  God's  name !  and  love  her  as  I 
have    done,  though  in  a  different  way.      You 
wooed  her  as  the  nameless  prairie   girl,  the  un 
known  foundling  of  the   Indian   camp ;  you  Win 
her,  now,  as  the  daughter  and  heiress   of  a  na 
bob,  and  the  sister  of  your  dearest  friend,  that 
nabob's  son.' 

'The  foundling  of  the  Indian  camp!'  repeated 
Henry,  the  last  alluded  to.  *  What !  and  did  you 
never  once  suspect  that  the  stolen  child  you 
found  among  the  savages,  was  the  same  that  was 
lost  on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi* 

*  Yes  !  once  or  twice  the  idea  sought  to  find  a 
place  in  my  mind,  but  reason  told  me  it  was  ab 
surd — nay  more,  impossible.      The  one  was  lost, 
as  you  say,  on  the  banks   of  the  Mississippi ;  the 
other  was  found  two  thousand  miles    distant,  in 
the  heart  of  California.     The  one  was  supposed 
to  have  perished  in  the  forest,  or  been  thrown  by 
Providence  into  the   hands  of  some   honest  bor 
der  trapper ;  the   other,  I   encountered   in  a  far 
distant  land,  among  a  horde   of  savages,  who  are 
as  frequent  kidnappers  of  children  as  the  Gipsies 
themselves.      I  remember  now,   however,   what 
failed  to  strike  me  before,  those  Indians   were  a 
wandering,   roving    tribe,   constantly    migrating 
from  region  to  region,  and  therefore  the  distance 
rightly  goes  for  nought  in  the  calculation.      Yet 
I  should  never  have  been  convinced  of  the  child's 
identity,  but  for  the  strange  coincidence,  in  each 
case  of  the  disguised  sex  /' 

*  I  see  it,  I  see  it  all !'  rejoined  Henry. 

At  that  instant  the  miser's  maniac  laugh  once 
more  thrilled  through  the  cave,  and  abruptly 
turning,  their  very  flesh  creeping  at  the  mocking 
sound,  all  beheld  the  old  man  on  his  knees  on 
the  cavern  floor,  piling  together  the  cave's  golden 
store — with  the  look  of  the  lunatic,  and  the  gla 
ring  eye  of  unconquered  avarice.  The  fiend  of 
his  nature  was  unsubdued,  still. 

*  Away  from  your  idol,  old  man— away  !'  cried 
the  stern,  deep  voice  of  Carson,  and  he  dragged 
the  miser  back  from  his  degrading  worship;  'you 
shall  be  removed,  for  ever,  from  it  soon.' 

'  Removed !'  screamed  the  exasperated  old 
man,  '  removed  from  my  gold  ?  Never ! — 1  will 
die  first,  and  so  shall  you  !  I'll  tear  out  your 
very  heart  and  eat  it — your  heart!  do  you 
hear?' 


With  a  tigpr-bound,  and  a  yell  like  that  of  a 
wild  beast  leaping  on  its  prey,  the  maniac  flung 
himself  upon  the  hunter's  back,  and  clung,  with 
terrible  desperation  there.  It  required  the  ut 
most  exertion  of  Carson's  enormous  strength  to 
dislodge  his  enemy  ;  and  fearful  were  his  strug 
gles  ere  he  succeeded,  and  shaking  him  off, 
dashed  him  forcibly  to  the  ground,  and  once 
more  held  the  miser  down. 

'  The  old  man  is  a  raving  maniac ! — doubt  it 
who  can !'  he  said,  panting  with  exhaustion.  '  He 
must  be  carried  back  to  Boston  in  chains  and  a 
straight-jacket;  and,  once  there,  placed  instantly 
in  a  mad-house.' 

Ellen  looked  piteously  at  her  brother,  as  if  to 
plead  forbearance  ;  but  Eugene  gravely  shook  his 
head,  and  said . 

'  It  is  dangerous  for  him  one  moment  longer  to 
be  at  large.' 

'  Dangerous  to  his  own  life  and  to  others,'  pur 
sued  Carson,  in  turn ;  'he  is  clearly  a  raving 
madman,  and  must  live  henceforth  the  inmate  of 
an  insane  asylum.' 

'  Be  it  so,'  said  Ellen,  sadly ;  '  yet,  Eugene,  he 
is  our  father.' 

'  He  dissolved  the  tie  of  Nature  long  ago,  El 
len.     Yet  it  is  a  duty  we  owe  to  the  safety  of  hu 
manity  ;  he  must  be   rendered   harmless,*  rep1, \-_' 
Eugene,  firmly,  coinciding,  as  his  sister  saw,  with 
Carson. 

'  Alas !  alas  !  my  brother,  and  must  we  make 
the  voyage  home  with  this  monster  on  board  the 
same  ship?  Heaven  forgive  me  for  such  a  term 
applied  to  a  parent !  Ah  !  me,  I  like  not  to  brave 
again  the  wild  dangers  of  the  sea,  and  that  ter 
rible  passage  of  Cape  Horn.' 

'  Nor  need  you,  lady !'  said  the  hunter,  courte 
ously.  '  Listen  to  me,  fair  lady,  and  you,  Henry 
"Vernon,  and  you,  Lincoln,  too.  Within  a  week, 
a  grand  caravan  of  my  men  will  leave  the  gold 
regions  for  the  overland  route  to  the  United 
States.  I  shall  head  the  troops,  and  with  Kit 
Carson  you  will  be  as  safe  as  in  your  native  city. 
Fear  not,  any  of  you,  that  so  short  a  stay  will  de 
feat  the  object  of  your  coming  to  California. 
This  cavern  is  stored  with  a  treasure  collected 
for  many  months ;  months  before  the  existence 
of  gold  in  California  was  known ;  and  it  ia  to 


KIT  CARSON. 


99 


carry  this  away  from  the  secret  depository  that 
Kit  Carson's  men  are  here.  This  treasure  is 
boundless,  and  you  shall  each  be  sharers  with 
myself  and  band.  Will  you  join  the  caravan. 

Never  was  proposal  more  joyously  acceded  to. 
Never  were  preparations  more  quickly  made. 
Within  the  prescribed  week,  the  horses  of  the 
troop  were  laden  with  the  inestimable  riches  re 
moved  from  the  treasure-cave,  and  the  whole 
party  set  forward,  via  San  Francisco,  for  the 
United  Stales. 

At  San  Francisco  they  made  but  a  short  stop. 
Here  it  was  that  Carson  procured  from  one  of 
t  lie  ships  in  port,  iron  fetters,  and  that  species  of 
body-matiaele  well-known  as  the  lunatic's  straight- 
w;Mst;  arid,  much  as  it  pained  the  gentle-hearted 
K  lien,  this  rigorous  confinement  was  found  ne 
cessary  to  the  maniac-father  whose  insane  feroci 
ty  rendered  it  imperative  that  he  should  be  for- 
evor  secluded  from  the  world.  Nevertheless, 
the  happiness  of  the  young  people,  if  not  without 
alloy,  was  as  great  as  it  could  well  be  ;  and,  aside 
from  all  thought  of  John  Vernon,  how  could  it 
be  otherwise  ?  Brother  and  sister  had  been  re 
united, — Henry  Vernon  was  returning  with  Ellen 
his  bride, — he  was  on  his  way  to  his  father's 
princely  home,  with  the  daughter  whose  loss  had 
left  it  for  a  while  Desolate;  and  he  saw  that  re- 
c  and  sister  betrothed  to  h4s 
•learest  friend,  the  brother  of  his  own  sweet 
wife.  And  oh !  how  strangely  was  the  happiness 
of  all  intermingled !  It  was  with  overflowing 
hearts  that,  their  brightest  desires  consummated, 
they  turned  their,  horses'  heads  from  San  Francis 
co,  and  found  the  grand  caravan  on  its  way  with 
them  homeward  at  last! 

'  You  are  quite  certain,  Captain  Carson,'  ob 
served  Ellen,  gaily,  with  her  brightest  smile, 
'  there  can  be  no  danger  or  impediment  to  delay 
us?' 

c  None,'  replied  the  gallant  hunter,  '  that  pru 
dence  and  experience  cannot  guard  against. 
Banish  every  fear,  lady;  you  will,  in  a  few 
weeks'  time,  see  once  more  the  dear  old  Boston 
of  which  you  speak  so  much,  and  whither  you  go 
to  be  received  as  the  loved  and  lovely  bride  of 
the  nabob  Vernon's  heir ;  and  you,  Edward,  as  I 
still  must  call  you,  a  fond  father,  wealth,  splen 


dor,  and  station  await  you  there.  You,  too,  Ea« 
gene,  are  returning  far  richer  than  a  millionaire 
to  a  city  in  which  you  once  toiled,  a  despised  and 
penniless  clerk,  and  with  a  betrothed  bride  by 
your  side.  ,  And  you,  Henry  Vernon,  go  to  intro 
duce  to  your  distant  parents  a  lovely  neice,  in 
the  person  of  your  wedded  wife,  and  with  your 
own  lips  to  assure  the  brother  of  John  Vernon, 
that,  with  Heaven's  help,  KIT  CARSON  HAS  FUL 
FILLED  HIS  vow  !' 

And  here,  having  brought  our  plot  to  its  ca 
tastrophe,  and  our  chief  characters  to  the  goal 
of  their  wishes,  AVC  are  at  liberty  to  leave  both 
these  and  the  gracious  leader,  unless  the  latter, 
ever  kind  and  generous,  shall  choose  to  accom 
pany  us  yet  farther  into  the  pages  of  the  SE 
QUEL  TO  THIS  STOUT,  which  will  soon  be  pub 
lished  in  pamphlet  form;  and  from  it  learn,  how 
strangely  Fate  orders  human  -events,  and  thwarts 
the  best-laid  plots  of  Men ;  how  our  Adventur 
ers  singul  irly  enough,  failed  to  reach  their  in 
tended  destination ;  how  the  cunning  of  a  mad 
man  baffled  the  whole  wondrous  skill  and  ad 
dress  of  the  experienced  CABSON,  placed  him 
and  his  companions  in  situations  of  the  greatest 
hazard,  and  brought  about  ruin  to  their  designs  ; 
how  the  grand  caravan  was  despoiled  of  its 
enormous  treasure,  by  the  avarice  of  the  miser 
and  monomaniac,  and  compelled  to  retrace  its 
way  to  the  Gold  Regions,  through  dangers  and 
perils  and  startling  schemes  for  its  destruction : 
all  produced  by  a  series  of  plots,  stratagems, 
and  snares  that  could  alone  have  found  birth  in 
the  mysterious  cunning  of  INSANITY. 

For  this,  let  the  reader  turn,  if  it  please  him, 
to  '  LIFE  IN  CALIFORNIA  ;  or,  The  Treasure 
Seekers1  Expedition ;'  a  work  that  possesses  the 
double  advantage  of  being  a  sequel  to  Kit  Car 
son,  and  a  complete  story  in  itself;  (which  will 
shortly  be  published  in  pamphlet  form,)  detail 
ing,  as  it  does,  the  habits,  customs  and  peculiar 
ities  of  the  opertives  of  the  Gold  Mines,  among 
which  its  scenes  are  wholly  laid — their  manners, 
mode  of  life,  and  the  novel  and  adventurous 
scenes  daily  transpiring  in  their  midst ;  a  work 
laid  in  a  more  extended  field  of  plot  and  inci 
dent,  involving  events  and  occurrences  of  the 
freshest  and  most  exciting  interest,  and  throw 
ing  open  to  view  the  most  bewildering  secrete 


100 


KIT  CARSON. 


and  richest  treasures  of  that  wondrous  land ! 

Meanwhile  we  bid  the  patient  reader  adieu, 
trusting  to  meet  again  as  often  and  as  pleasantly: 


and  ended  is  our  Story  of  KIT  CARSON, 
PBINCE  or  THK  GOLD  HUNTEKS. 
THE  END, 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1849,  by  George  H.Willu  ms,  in  the  Cletk 
Office,  in  me   District  Court  of  the   District  of  Massachusetts.] 

*— ' — — : * 


•  . 

/  ;*  j  '     > 

,-  '  ' 


